On a bleak December day
he toils the dreary hours away,
Moving earth so one may lay,
beneath the ground forever.

In the fading winter light, a church bell rings,
But not the bright, cascading notes of Christmas night,
But a death knell for a loved one.

The north wind blows down cold and strong,
and sings it's own sad mournful song,
Of how winter suddenly came along,
and summer passed so quickly.

When the hearse has been and gone,
he takes five minutes to dwell upon,his own life and mortality.
For twenty years and a good few more,
he's buried folk both rich and poor,
And he knows the morrow has the same in store,
For death is life's one certainty.