The Southern Mountain's Death

— This is my soul kitchen. Here I feel the chills and the mission, that from the southern opposition of the mountain premonition. Here I burst my superstition while cooking, talking, and creative coalition creates such a blast in my soul kitchen.

— Oh Aunt Beth, foolish nonsense what you’re saying, rest and take a breath. Realize, on that feather couch laying, you can’t talk with the death. Weary and dreary is your wealth under the fiery leather that burdens your health, please rest well my dear Aunt Beth, and ignore the southern mountain's death.

— It’s all because of death! My youth's strong desire stole, see by her I’m being pointed, she sucked me dire as the coal. As the coal, As the coal. Before life’s ending disappointed, now I must pay the toll. But strange is, as I see how death has haunted, not a single black at all. Just a few more breaths has granted, but I don’t see any black at all. Who could say the reaper was so enlighted, from her light nobody warned me. All I see is yellow and white low, but not black to rest below. I should’ve known, now I know that light will glow, and so I will not rest under dim light just like so. Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye, my little nephew now. I should have warned you that in the southern mountain’s rye, there is a spirit so, so nigh. Should have warned you, but don’t be afraid. I should have told you about the southern mountain’s death!