The sky, the ocean. They saw it and died, bodies in the land, bodies of man and wife. They'll rise again. O what they did. Oh what they are. What was their story while they lived and after they began sleeping. It was of sin washed alongside a sin celebration fable. The flowers. The birds. We see them, water them, hold them with our bodies. And we will rise to see the faces of our family, after our story is told along side the slander of us all. Clothes. Mountains. Cars. Will it all disappear?