Now forbidding tunnels crumble beneath the ground,

Of London's finest, streets and avenues,

Only now do they reverberate to the marching sound,

Of heavy cutting metal as it searches, selects then slices.

For at 8.50am on that radiant Thursday morning,

Death entered that inky tunnel bringing suffering and mourning,

To passengers on that marked train on that dreadful day.

Death it seems refused, as always, to be kept away! 

The Bible tells us of our death,

That we don't know the time nor place,

So I have to ask, with trepidation,

Were they born again with a saving grace?

On that July morning in that underground passage

When death walked by,

And offered to none the last gesture to

Whisper to a loved one a final goodbye.

"For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout"

(1 Thessalonians 4:16-17)