Nothing can help us more, when we are gone. With our bodies our love shall die And rotting in a narrow coffin lie. All this we know, as our eyes betray. We are alive. So we shall turn to dust.
Nothing can last.
Plants grow but to decay. As men and beasts have died, so die we must. Time dripping through our hands. We seek to hold It still, this very moment to enjoy. But it is lost, and our blood turns cold.