And in those days men shall seek death and shall not fight it. And they shall desire to die and death shall flee from them.

Let it not be death, but let it be completeness. Men shall let death melt into memory.

They shall desire to die standing naked in the wind and to burn in the sunlight, with or without fate.

Men shall wait till their hearts burst or erupt from overload of blood. Their bones should crackle and snap with every footstep.
Let them echo the word death. Let it foretell.

They shall rub their skin with hot, sizzling, popping grease. Shall drug themselves with gin and kosher salt.

With holes in their stomachs, men shall pant, “Death is divine.” Men shall love the bitter-sweet blood trickle down their eyes like tap water.
Let their knees burn on hot coal.

May their hearts fill with asphalt and their head fill up with toxic gases. Men shall sniff poison like they sniff flowers.
They shall skip on nails rather than in meadows.

Let them chew on tar and mate with eels. Bathe in acid and grow mold spots. Shall dance in the fire and choke on their teeth.
Crucify, liquefy, impale bleed them dry.

Scratch their backs with cacti and sleep with spiders in their mouths.
Shall hang themselves like ornaments on a tree.

Let them swing in the washing machines and stretch their faces till the skin falls like paper.

The men shall realize that death is their relative and not a sin. They will love it and cherish it.