Heaven and earth must not be broken:
our final utterance unsaid,
our deathbed monologue unspoken,
just like snakes our skins are shed.
Expecting mourners at our deathbed:
proclaiming fortune and great fame,
exalting heaven at its fresh dead,
common to all and all the same.
The few who make it into history:
outnumbered by their unknown friends,
those dissolved in formless mystery,
those whose lives our deathbed ends.
Where we'll end we do not know yet:
our deathbed's place is far from clear,
but its darkened room is regret,
and its pillowcase is fear.