Bodies bent, beards masking misery, the tired of life attend the courts of finality praying the almighty judge will grant their appeals to die. Four sit in prayer, their losing hands longs since folded foreheads furrowed too dry to bear seeds, they meditate on their deeds. Grim eyes seeking honorable ends. But one is beyond god-- his body limp his hands drained defeat visible in his bare feet, beard shorn free, but he still feels the nits. If he is sentenced to more life he will unwrap his remaining garments, jangle himself before the jury, preferring pleasure's perjury to the sentence of another day. No defense in mind, he is resigned to whatever torture or fairytale the afterlife creates.