*clears throat*
Ladies and gentlemen
It's starting to work more and more.

This one took me half an hour, which means I'm going back a few steps, but at least it turned out quite alright!

Now, a few notes.

In case you didn't get the humour in the lines:
And make my home six feet from irony
In a willow made out of bones
...it's a crack on death. Six feet=six feet under, willow made out of bones=skeleton, and thus...this home is six feet from irony.

And then, as another point of humour, I thought I'd let you know that I scratch a line from my poem=I did scratch a line from my poem. Originally, it would've went like this:
But I make paint of the blood coming from me
And graffiti attack deaths scythe
But I decided that it would be better to keep the humour subtle.

Yes, I started out writing this poem in an entirely gloomy, grumbly mood. The first line it's self was inspired by the movie Meet Joe Black ("You are looking at a man who's not walking through the valley of the shadow of death, he's galloping into it...and my daughter has fallen in love with death")
Clearly, it steered far from there.

in closing, "Is not your time now." "Make it time." "You canno' fool wit' the way t'ings got to be."

If you have not seen that movie, go, rent it, watch it, you'll love it.