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The flames have died against the moonlight

For an age he has lived and served

The smoke has choked his last breath

And so he leaves this world behind

His soul now gazes at his jarred flesh

And he sees that he can do no more

A weight, it seems, has been lifted

But still I see a sadness in his eyes

I see a sense of failure

That clouds his passage to death

And those clouds are dark and burdened

What vision does his kind foresee?