The Cold Bench

I sat upon the cold bench
Breathing in the cold air
Recovering from my earlier drench
Water dripping from my hair
It fell upon my leather pants
A somber sound filled my ears
Sending me into a trance
Awakening my greatest fears
The faceless looks of my peers
The dark cloak standing before
Ignoring all my tears
Much for frightening than any lore
The wandering souls asking for help
Wandering with a silent yelp
The scythed man approaching
A tall man, faceless, not nameless
His name distinctive and shameless
He yields it with pride
The man who has no face to hide
Come to collect my soul