Oh my father, my poor dead father,

You’re deader each passing day. Your words that echo in my head are lost in years long gone, resonating in places and times where no one lives anymore. Your advice is starting to tinge with ignorance, your wisdom dusty, you’re getting hopeless. No, these things are no longer really what matters. No, that’s not really the point anymore. No, we’ve moved on, papa. These things have been settled. Sorry, you’ve been proven wrong, since you were stuck down there in that box. I’m sorry.

Death is getting its revenge on you, making you sound old, making you sound senile…