Venomous looms and winding mossy ways

Our works in stone, in paint, in print, we spared some for a few decades, or a millennium or two, but everything must finally fall and more, or wear away into the ultimate... universal ash. The triumphs and the failures, the treasures, the fakes the fact of life.....we are going to die. Be of good heart; pry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced......but what of it.....? Go on singing.