Three dead standing there,
Rotting corpses in front of the lords,
Wearing tattered shrouds,
Armed with scythes, bows and arrows.

Out of their coffin,
Walking human carcasses,
Putrid and repulsive,
Covered with swarming vermin.

"Respice post te! Hominem te esse momento!"

The decomposed bodies began to talk,
Claiming that no apostles will save the living,
No saints can stop the hourglass,
As life is transient.

An instruction
Beyond affliction,
An instigation
To an act of contrition.

A lesson and warning to prepare to die at any moment,
The wheel of Fortune can make the powerful and vain ones fall.

Profane or religious, the message from beyond the grave remains the same,
An earthly existence is empty, with forms of morbidity,
Crime, execution, disease, battle, suicide,
Death is insensitive and its scythe will cut the brittle thread of life.

A dreadful encounter with the dead,
And everything seems so futile.

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