Death as an industry, optimized to be self sustaining, innovation squelched to ensure profit, not life, too often shift workers lacking monastic attitudes of service to anyone but themselves.
Whose life matters but your own, and with age, that glint in the eye, that sparkle fades, eventually we give in to the invading army of bacteria, feeding on their host, as caterpillar eat all the forest, selfishly.
But in my seventy two years, I did this… I did that…, earned a few bonus years, came to appreciate my parents sacrifices for my life, but eventually its “time to die,” and my control of that day, that hour, that minute is limited—
One day we will time out before we die for man will invent anti-death, extend life for a time, and for a cost, feeding the industry of death.