He doesn’t come back home again, and his household doesn’t recognize him anymore.
But why should I fast now that he’s dead? Can I bring him back? ⌞Someday⌟ I’ll go to him, but he won’t come back to me.”
he will certainly rot like his own feces. Those who have seen him will say, ‘Where is he?’
Eyes that saw him will see him no more. His home will not look at him again.
The east wind carries him away, and he’s gone. It sweeps him from his place.
It claps its hands over him. It whistles at him from his own place.
But when it is uprooted from its place, ⌞the ground⌟ denies it ⌞and says⌟, ‘I never saw you!’
When the wind blows over the flower, it disappears, and there is no longer any sign of it.
In a little while a wicked person will vanish. Then you can carefully examine where he was, but there will be no trace of him.