MASKS

DEATH’S COSTUME PARTY

No matter what the competition tries,
when the winner’s called, I always hear my name.
I love applause. Again, I’ve won First Prize.

My trophies come in every shape and size,
though every year my costume is the same.
Some mix and match; I’d rather specialize.

I hear the gossip, the base malicious lies,
but it comes part and parcel with my fame.
Losers are always so quick to criticize.

I pay no mind. I even sympathize
with my opponents. It’s true I have no shame
(to bet against me has always been unwise).

My secret is…this costume’s no disguise.
Surprised? The rumor’s true. I am who others claim.
Yet soon enough you’ll see things through my eyes.
The end is fixed, but you can choose the game.

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DEATH’S DINNER PARTY

I am politically correct. I don’t discriminate.
One and all are welcome to my little tête-à-tête.

I won’t tolerate bigotry. All niggers, kikes and chinks
can socialize here comfortably and linger over drinks.

There’s equal opportunity around my dinner table.

I place the Nazis near the Jews. I sit Cain next to Abel.
I never pick on scapegoats. Fine wine’s my only bias.
Let Satan and St. Peter sort the sinners from the pious.

I’m sick of all their bickering. Their morals are a bore.
Everyone whom I invite leaves through a single door.