As a dying rainbow confronts the black cloud ahead. The whistle of the wind defines the moment instead; as death begins swallowing up the dead. Break for the hills, run to the valleys, climb the mountain that will kill your suffering breath. Remember when life was good in your youth? Before your bones began to fail with all the abuse. Time has halted; your muscles have revolted. The mind shuts down while your memories defaulted. You, my friend, are at an end – for the rainbow you see is only pretend.