All things must come to an end;
The day, the week, the minute.
Man counts the hour alone,
He stands upon his great throne.

I have counted all these things.
I have stood as all men stood.
Everything has lost its sheen;
I have done all that I could.

I think I like how it feels;
To lose each and every thrill.
To hold on by a small thread.
I walk with death as a friend.