Haunting Deeds

I am at the skirt of death,
In the stage of exiting the earth;
But my sleep is not tranquil,
For I had done much evil;
Wicked were my deeds of past,
That haunts me each day and night;
I had done so many sins,
Which can never be forgiven;
I was a cruel beastie,
Who plundered people's money;
As I'm nearing death I regret,
For I had been a brute;
The deathly seeds I had sown,
Are now completely grown,
Waiting to be reaped,
Gathering my deeds;
What is there to do at all,
To save my soul from hell?
I have decided to donate my property,
To the poor, needy and to the charity;
I wish this saves my soul,
When I lie in my charnel.