Envoi
The last sand grain fell. Time's up, the warden said. Another nail in the coffin, eternal being only the embrace of death. For living defeated and inglorious is to die daily, yet, such death is impermanent. This matter, however, is of permanence. Is it really over? The warden whispers: it's truly over.
A flower forever withered, shan't any amount of water be able to bring it back. A caterpillar forever erased, butterfly's wings flapping. This too shall pass, warden sternly gazing their eyes.
The final nail in the coffin. Humming, singing bird.