Far off in the distance, I heard a tolling bell,
I walked along in cadence, encaptured in its spell,
I was just a traveller, passing by this way,
When I topped that final hill, on cold December day.
A biting wind came out the north, from forth its teeth spit snow,
An icy chill ran down my spine, as gazed on scene below,
Three people stood beside a grave, wood coffin lay inside,
Behind white church with tolling bell, a cold day to have died.
I thought perhaps inside the church, some warmth that I would find,
So I walked down towards the three, to ask if they would mind,
They stood in total silence, no sorrow I could see,
As I approached, three turned away, no word they said to me.
The bell was tolling louder now, as I stood alone,
Gazing down on open grave, beside a blank tombstone,
I looked around for mourners, no longer saw the three,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, the Holy Trinity.
From the church's steeple, the bell tolled louder yet,
Within my mind a madness, the tolling had beset,
Do you hear the tolling, the tolling of the bell?
O' God, please stop the tolling, I hear my own death knell.
[This message has been edited by Tim (edited 08-12-99).]