There I stopped, standing straight, alerted, watching. Far away in the mountains, at the edge of the vast field, hid somewhere the beast.
I know it's there, the beast.

Tired tired tired...No, not tired, but lost track of everything. No, not everything, but still...
Feeling in need of something...deep, warm, hug, love...
I love, I love her. But...need that kind of deep, silent, fulfilling strength.

The man depending on dying

He insists on dying, madly, firmly, persistingly. It's as if there's no hope of being more glorious other than holding on to it, so the final breath of his would carress his face and say goodbye in whisper, which deaf him of all others' crying, begging him to stay for just one more second.
It's not like he's going to committ suecide, no, not like that. He just take it serously that he himeslf wouldn't hope of begging for any more second when the last is approaching. So in a twisted way, he could be sure that in all time he could call himself brave, not a coward. Thus is certified, his dignity.