His Descent Was Like Nightfall.

All The Survivors Of The War Had Reached Their Homes And So Put The Perils Of Battle And The Sea Behind Them.

The Life, Which Others Pay, Let Us Bestow, And Give To Fame What We To Nature Owe.

Two Urns On Jove's High Throne Have Ever Stood, The Source Of Evil One, And One Of Good; From Thence The Cup Of Mortal Man He Fills, Blessings To These, To Those Distributes Ills; To Most He Mingles Both.

Even When Someone Battles Hard, There Is An Equal Portion For One Who Lingers Behind, And In The Same Honor Are Held Both The Coward And The Brave Man; The Idle Man And He Who Has Done Much Meet Death Alike.

And Here I Am Using My Own Lungs Like A Sucker.