I would let you burn it out.
Up to about, just before your physical demise came.
You'd have the time to know and judge whether it was you or your body, incinerating!
Then again, perhaps not. Man is quite a conceited doll. Using words of which he has no idea of their clouded origins and supposed meanings.
He's a product in the making being undone eternally at a crossroads! A freak and unaccountable nature full of trifle vanities. A puppet for demons and departed souls. An ejaculation fraught with imagined destinies. A miracle amongst the things that must die continually.
The forgotten epitome that was once God's proud effort.
Who is it, "incarnates", in the animal flesh? Made to partake of disintegrating particles? An eye and an ear waiting in the vestibule, blinded by a block of rotating atoms!...gleaming with affection.
A programmed idiot using life out till it leaves him, or until angels take him away in spite of all individual will.
Has God forgotten the soul? Or is it just that our eyes cling to what earth worms desire?
