When Death comes in a carriage,
And offers you a bouquet of flowers,
Don on your fancy white gown and lacy veil,
Follow him in steps of grace.
Death’s bride is white, pure white,
While he is dressed in black, obscure black,
His bride’s face is pale, deadly pale,
Her family gathers as shadow pilgrims.
She comes to his embrace
Leaving her worldly suitor anguished.