(He sits in the damp, musty dark place, whispering to himself, the silence heavy around him only his breath could be heard.)

Man: "Priest's silvery, flower end bed..."

(He pauses, staring into nothing.)

"Is this how it ends?"

(He lets out a breath, trembling.)

Man: "Spring darker than darkness... Her song... Her Nightingale's song Divine."

"I see it every night... That last look in your eyes." (He sighs, barely above a whisper.)

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Man: "All of us... subject to Death." (He shakes his head, swallowing hard.) "But what choice did I have? What else could I have done?"

Man: "A pilgrim... That's what I am now." (His voice cracks.)

"Her kingdom... our Home Divine."

(He falls silent, a tear slipping down his cheek.)

"I’ll carry you with me... forever."

Priest's silvery, flower end bed,

Night at the end of our time.

Spring darker than darkness,

Her Nightingale's song Divine.

All of us subject to Death,

All captive of mortal time.

Living world just a pilgrim,

Her kingdom our Home Divine