I look at the world, and I notice it’s turning,
While my guitar gently weeps.
With every mistake, we must surely be learning,
Still, my guitar gently weeps.
A young boy was given a guitar.
Along with his instrument he was given a warning.
‘Time works against us all. We can try to preserve this life but eventually, your song will be sung.
The world keeps turning.
As long as the music keeps playing, you will live.’
He found power in the music as he played. He told tales through song, watched as the world spun around him.
Death came for all he sung to, for death is inevitable.
Try as people may to stop it, the world continued to turn, but death never came for him.
Eventually he, as an old man, could play no longer. His fingers no longer could strum the strings, his hands no longer could press the frets. In that moment, beautiful death came for him.
He embraced death as a friend, passing his guitar onto another with the same warning.
Learn, watch, sing.
My guitar gently weeps, my friends.
I don’t know how you were diverted,
You were perverted too.
I don’t know how you were inverted,
No one alerted you.
My song plays, but do you listen?
You each toil to climb your respective Olympuses of life, but when the song ends, none can divert death.
Felix Foley, Teddy O’Toole each toil to cement their legacy in the minds of the children of Arcadia. When death plays your song, will you be remembered?
Colt Ramsey, Jackson Cade toil to expose that which is unjust. But will your labour be your own end in the process?
Jasper Redgrave, Blacktooth are no strangers to the beauty of death, using mortality as their plaything. But through art or hunger, the song still plays for you too.
Grimskull sees death as something to be embraced. When the song plays out your finale, you will find the freedom you seek.
Not even Dr. Death can halt the song from claiming his patients. Nor can Stubbins Doom invent a way to stop the inevitable.
That one day, the music will stop playing for you.
And death will come.
I look at you all, see the death that is sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor, and I see it needs sweeping
Still, my guitar gently weeps
I am Agent De La Muerte, my guitar is the blade of my bidding.
While you toil and struggle against the harshness of life, my guitar gently weeps for you.
Waiting.
Death welcomes you all, and you cannot stop the song from being sung.
Whether you embrace my song to find your freedom,
Or seek to profit off the blade of death.
Whether you fight tooth and nail to preserve the life you have,
Or that of others,
My guitar gently reaps.
And atop that mountain, at Olympus. There will be nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, the music will find you.
Still, my guitar will gently reap.
It’s inevitable.