My Death (Recorded live at the Music Hall, Boston 1st October 1972) David Bowie

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[Verse 1]
My death waits like an old roué
So confident I'll go his way
Whistle to him and the passing time
My death waits like a Bible truth
At the funeral of my youth
We bowed for that and the passing time
My death waits like a witch at night
As surely as our love is bright
Let's not think about the passing time

[Chorus]
But whatever lies behind the door
There is nothing much to do
Angel or devil, I don't care
For, in front of that door there is you

[Verse 2]
My death waits like a beggar blind
Who sees the world through an unlit mind
Throw him a dime for the passing time
My death waits to allow my friends
A few good times before it ends
Let's not think about the passing time
My death waits in your arms, in your eyes
Your cold fingers will close my eyes
Let's not think about the passing time