When our energy runs out.
When our veins cannot carry
anymore. We stop moving.

We all have a clock
in our chest.
Counting down to 0.
Then it stops.

Our essence flies away,
reaching other places
or disappearing.
Our substance stays still
and it's moved in the depths.

We may be fearful of leaving
but eternal existence wasn't
made for humans
Ancients go, moderns come.
Then it repeats.

The black taxist has no blame.
She prevents Earth from flooding.
She sorrows and sighs,
unpleasant words tear her
apart.

But duty is duty.