When there is no more life in the eyes, The stillness of lifelessness is penetrating; The sterility of coldness and finality is harsh. It is like the taste of metal in the mouth. I contemplate the nothingness of it. The days of men are counted in seasons. When I look upon them, is tears all I can give? For they are men no more, but have been reborn. They will live; they will yet live. In my memory, I will count them as gods.