Mors

Mors
The Angel of Death comes to the King's Room at Night;
His Face shines.
Les chansons soutterrain.
Singing, singing.
The Angel of Death in his flight laughs deeply;
He knows his destination.
It shall be through a dark dream
Into a new life.
Vita Novus.

(...If there had been TV in Paris in 1789, or in Russia in 1917, would the populace ever have carried through their revolutions? It seems doubtful.)