This is a Grim poem:

One day living, another dead,
Burning memories, hole in my head.
Looking in the mirror,
Looking in the sun,
I see a spiked coffin,
I see a chained murmor
Hand of doom, death's tomb,
My rain is red as blood,
My moon is snowblind.
Scars of blackness,
Fill my face.
Bony fingers,
Touch themselves.
My lady's gone,
But she will return soon.
I passed away,
She will too.
Now the pillow turns to stone,
This hell turns to home.
Mirror of illusion,
Room of confusion,
Running on endless fields,
Wild bones, dead ones.
Space of life,
Turns to cubes,
They fall down, keep on fallin'
Like led flies,like dead flies.
Just a rainy day, here to stay

This one's called:

Rolling Reaper

Rolling reaper,
Through hell I roll.
Slicein', dicein',
Taking toll.
Boots of leather,
Scythe of steel,
Never knowing,
When I've gone n' been.
Blood spills, bones chip,
I tear your soul appart.
Eye of evil, touch of death,
I'll take you to,
The other side.