The dreams of men have withered in their sleep.
They lie as dead. The angels weep.
The song has ended in a cry—
The wail was raised, for all men die.
As bones to dust, as bricks to sand,
nothing remains, nothing will stand,
and I, who've wandered over all
and seen that everything must fall
must wonder how it is with me,
who is destruction, death, disease?
When time is done, where can I flee?
When stars burn out and all worlds freeze,
then nothing more will ever be
for Ruin to bring ruin to;
so there myself I will undo.
Tale Told 