The people sit there in their tombs,
certain of Impending Doom.
Noone speaks or makes a sound,
noone thinks to look around.

If they looked up they would see lights
shining through the gloomy nights:
Second star to the right is dawning,
carry straight on till the morning.

But they never look up at the sky,
never lift their heads that high.
Why look up at stars or moon
when you know you will die soon?

They never stop to laugh or cry,
what's the point when they'll soon die?
Death is coming, they'll wait here.
He's due in about eighty years.