It is always this way,

Too little or too much time.

I grip you in my hands and carry your soul towards that open door.

It's always a door and it's always open with a light like someone is waiting for me and the person I am carrying.

I am not told where your soul goes after I carry you towards the door.

It is not for me to know and so I do not ask.

It's been far too long.

I remember a time when I did not carry souls nor did I worry about death,

A foolish boy I was to think I could be young forever ,that my deeds would not catch up with me.

Now I carry souls and the day is never done, there is always a body and a door that leads to somewhere that I cannot fathom.