Grim Reaper called Death

Grim Reaper called Death

There is a reaper, a mower called Death.

He has been given the power from God almighty.

Today, he is sharpening his blade –

this will give a fine cut!

Soon, he will start mowing a

nd we'll have to endure it.

Beware, fair little flower!

What stands colourful and guileless today,

will be trimmed away tomorrow.

You roses in spite of your thorns,

you flowers in the corn,

and you anemone,

you will not be spared.

Beware, fair little flower!

Many hundred thousands, uncounted,

wherever the sickle falls:

Silver bells

and golden flakes

will lie there together,

you hardly know their names.

Beware, fair little flower!

Lavender, clover, thyme

and yellow dandelion,

hemp blossom and poppy –

you deserve it!

But you innocent violets,

he will also come and fetch you.

Beware, fair little flower!

Death makes no difference,

all falls with one single blow.

You proud iris,

you curly basil

and you, pretty daisy,

he will not show mercy to you.

Beware, fair little flower!

I defy you, Death! Come here, I don't fear you!

Hurry up and make your big cut!

If I'll get hurt by your scythe,

I'll be removed,

transplanted into the Heavenly Garden,

and there I will wait:

Beware, fair little flower!