The phone rings out,
but it won't stop,
"forget about
it, matters not"
They say, courious,
thought you might be:
"what is the news,
it has for me"
But soon life goes,
and turns often,
the ring echoes,
sounds calm, soften
For years to come,
ring midly pangs,
while bells sharp tone,
holds firm its fangs
Cought bored one night,
of all the time,
spent in the light,
you call the line
"It's finally you!
How do you do?
Say your goodbye,
it's time to die."