Death, sweet Death, beckons to me.
He is a lighthouse, warning most to avoid his realm
But He calls me by my name
He tells me to be dead is the greatest gift Life has to offer
And whispers of the secret joys of His hazy oblivion.

"Come my child and partake of my treasures," and
"Your troubles shall cease even as your spirit roams," are His entreaties.

At first His voice is as soft as the waves lapping at the shore
But as I ignore him his call becomes
louder
Louder
LOUDER
Than the squall of a maelstrom
Until He is all I hear

His voice dries up the Happiness fed by
Hope, who is a frightened dove.
And when Hope ceases to feed you in the morning and in the the evening, then
"Elijah, you are alone."

So

End Life to escape from Death.
Cast off your body and dwell with Him.
Death is the light in the lighthouse.
Choose that light
Choose darkness.