Deep in the lands where sunlight fades,
Where shadows stretch and silence wades,
There swims a tale of ancient lore,
Of Death's own fishes, forevermore.

Bubbles and Wandsworth, they glide with grace,
Swimming where the spirits lie.
Not in seas of salt or moss,
But in black waters souls call home.

The River's deep, it sings in sighs,
Beneath a bridge of weeping skies.
And every night, She drifts our way,
A shadow born of dusk and gray.

She brings the souls, some light, some grim,
Some still clinging, limb by limb.
We circle round, we flick our tails,
And listen close to ghostly tales.

"Hey, ain't that Caesar?" Bubbles cried,
"Didn't he get stabbed, like… five guys wide?"
"No, it's seven," I said with flair,
"Poor chap's still bleeding royal air."

"Oh look! A pharaoh! Golden sheen!"
"Guess even gods can't dodge the stream."
Some come proud, and some come pale,
Some still think they're in a tale.

We've seen lovers clasping tight,
Dragging grief through endless night.
Poets mumble half a verse,
While bankers still check death's purse.

A knight once asked, "What is this place?"
I said, "The end, dear sir, not a race."
Another moaned, "It was too sudden!"
And some just run!

She nudges and guides them, soft and slow,
To the door that waits below.
She never speaks, just hums a tune
A lullaby beneath no moon.

The sunless lands lie just ahead,
Where dreams go quiet and destiny's end.
And we, her watchers, swim the line
Between the lost and the divine.

Endless years, we've seen it all,
We've watched this tide from shore to shore.
From queens to jesters, tyrants too,
They all look lost, then pass on through.

So if you feel a chill one day,
And waters whisper, "Come this way,"
Don't fear the sunless lands
Know that it's finally time, you understand.

And She? She's not the end you dread,
She simply walks where none have led.
But us? We swim, we laugh, we stare
For every end must meet us there.

So mind your step, and mind your sins,
The fishes grin where the reaper's been.