Heaven waits and often does,
for those that seek its prize;
hell can wait as well my love,
this corpse has yet to die.
There's too much poetry to write,
too many hills to climb;
we've more music to enjoy,
before we're past our prime.
Too many friends to visit,
too many books to read,
the soul will let you know,
just what it is we need.
Fight against the dying light,
light a candle if you must;
we've too many things to do,
before we bite the dust.