Who is that man all dressed in black
wandering on his own?
He has a fire in his eyes
and roams this world alone.

In sunlight there's no shadow
to reflect the time of day
but on a lonely moonlit night
each hour slips away.

Stray curs, they cringe before him
as hookers pay their dues;
Sots and those who feed a thirst
while searching for a ruse

On and on he presses,
no gamble, just sure bet.
Clouds will not forsake him
they dare to soon forget.

Trees will bend as if in wind.
Small branches, they break bough
but of that man all dressed in black
they shan't forget somehow.

One can not see the stranger
unless his time is near.
With hand of white, void of flesh,
he be not sage nor seer.

You won't know when he's coming.
Take heed, for that is fact.
When the Great Conductor calls,
your train must leave its track.

Each picket through life's journey
shall count, 'cause I've a hunch;
That man in black will have a say
if your ticket isn't punched.