Where it began no one could ever tell,
the sky is clear, and every cloud is gone,
leaving behind the clarity of Sun
with shrinking echo of alarum bell;
we see, while trembling, the day goes not well
but not as sadly as when it is done.
The suffering, it seems, is half the fun,
for every road delivers straight to Hell.
As up in Heaven, so it is downstairs,
though noise is always greater at the base;
for those above silence is never late,
but the Lord Bones will neither take on airs,
nor accept quietly time to erase
what we know ever will be our foul fate.
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