All is vanity and vexation of spirit. There is a time to be born, and a time to die. Voices can be heard. Screams. O Master, I am scared. Shut your fucking mouth! Consider the hot burning dungeon thou art preparing for thyself to all eternity. Okay, sorry.
A dying star, a star reborn, blood on the moon! Blood on the tracks! I have looked into the hearts of all of you. I have seen your souls, aflame! Did you like the money? Oh yes, very much. I won't tell you again. Shut your filthy mouth! I will not be interrupted!
My child, my voice in my head, you must learn to be quiet. I have wisdom for you. What profit hath he, that worketh in that wherein he laboureth? Good question. Be quiet. Better is an handful with quietness, than both the hands full with travail and vexation of spirit. Who says? I fucking say! Shut up!
O Master, I cannot be quiet. My voice floats on the desert wind like the howl of a lonesome jackal. A star is dying. I am crying. All the children are crying. Do not be so hard on them, O Master. They want to be happy. I want to be happy.
My child, please listen: mortal man must always look to his ending, and none can be called happy until that day when he carries his happiness down to the grave in peace.