I chased the gold, I chased the blaze, wore borrowed crowns of shining praise. The world leaned in, I held it fast, believing power was built to last. Fame whispered songs in velvet tone, a sweet illusion, brightly sewn. Yet not one note, however deep, could warm the chill that shadows keep. The mirror swore I was complete unbroken will, perfected feat. I ruled the hours, bent the days, thought time itself would know my face. Then death arrived—no knock, no sound, no bargain struck, no holy ground. It peeled my titles, name, and flame, and left me bare, without my claim. All that glittered fell to dust, the throne, the strength, the fragile trust. In silence now, the truth is said no crown outlives the breath we shed. So hear the hymn the ending breath sings softly still—no soul outpaces death.