What do you say about death, however noble, however ignoble? The end is the same. Dead.
The heart stops and will melt away. The brain stops and will melt away. Everything on our bones stops and melts away.
It's ugly. It's no prettier for kings and billionaires than it is for the pauper and beggar.
After a time, there is nothing left. No beauty to claim recognition, no sinew to claim strength.
Nothing is left but the bones, just calcium deposits of a certain shape.
Nothing left but bones.
Unless you count that last rattling breath that left the lungs.
Maybe the breath is left, too.
"Mortal, can these bones live?"
I answered, "O Lord God, you know."