How troubled we were. Your death wasn’t anyone’s fault but yours, but I still mourn you.
I’d stay here to pray for you, but all my words are drenched in sin. They’re after me, so I cannot stay here much longer.
Your remains rest on the seventeenth hill. How beautiful it looks from here.
As I depart this island and make my escape, I watch the sun fall behind where you lie. Maybe now you’re part of this very Earth.
I wave goodbye as the fog obscures all from view.
Credit to Thomas Dolby from his album “A Map of the Floating City” for the picture and the setting.