Death lies in the wrist and the clock ticks by. Why tickest thee with such life and vigour? What trickery lies in ticking? Why not rests thee in the shade of the valley?

Death lies a lie foretold by the prophets of TV. Why prophet thee thy prophecy, thy death sentence for your fellow beings? When you can rest, in the shade o' the valley?

Death lies in ears marked with grave appreciation. Why appreciate thee and what worth has your appreciation? Rest your head on a airy pillow, in the shade of the valley.

Death lies in whereabouts unknown with subtlety abounded with a ribbon of faith. Why lie? Death lays down on haystacks as breeze caresses. Here in th'shade of the valley.