At the crossroads, they gather and plead, Each face tells a story, each breath like a sigh— But I, the reaper, choose who must die. They bargain and beg, they weep and they pray, Yet the Fates have no mercy, they won’t sway. Anubis below, with his commands, But it’s Destiny’s thread that I snip in my hand. The Scythe always swings, quiet and grand. And though they fear me, I take no stand— I simply do my duty with life in my hand.