Up on the Heaven of Death

From the pen charmed in the tar,
That oozes out the Light of the Dead;
In the surface of the Light of the God,
Of the woes of the Light of the Red.

After seeing the God of the Dead,
In his company up on the trip of the Glad;
Writes ‘Oh Satan! Behold me, curse me not,
Cause I am going up on the Heaven of Death.

Release me not from the abode of your grace,
Least I fall along the Red-Men-Race;
Can’t battle with the Mighty Sword,
Won’t I be dead in the Hell of God?

The sword of heaven might be a mighty one,
And the entire race going in its path;
But deep down in everyone of us,
Rules thee Oh! Lord of Death.’