They are living candles and we will watch them burn
Their frantic pace of dying is so hard to maintain
Into the arms of Solace you go: (we sing the screams of men;) "make a Joyful Noise unto the Lord," scream and scream again
Age or Beauty: which to burn? There's always room for one less; Suffering is the Master from Whom we learn: keep this Secret and be blessed
In these, the last days before Revelation, as Existence is fultile and Failure is not an option, they bleed for Love of the Body, and they die for the Body; now, only silence remains... a sylvan silence
The sick, the dying, the dead, the rotting, the damned... ...the burning
Their lives, as such, are but a trifle; their sacrifices, much like compost, will help to nourish the Seeds of the Future; this august Body cannot cease to grow
"Arbeit macht frei" until you die; welcome to permanent downtime
They are living candles and we will watch them burn out
All these small Deaths of mind, of body... Rest is for the weak