All too soon this body will lie on the ground, cast aside, deprived of consciousness, like a useless scrap of wood.
In this world, hate never yet dispelled hate, only love dispels hate. This is the law, ancient and inexhaustible. You too shall pass away. Knowing this, how can you quarrel.
Of bones the city is made, Plastered with flesh and blood, Where decay and death are deposited, And pride, and ingratitude.
Life is swept along, next-to-nothing its span. For one swept to old age no shelters exist. Perceiving this danger in death, one should drop the world's bait and look for peace.
Many do not realize that We here must die. For those who realize this, quarrels end.
Unindicated and unknown is the length of life of those subject to death.
