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?