Requiem in pax

“There are no words but words,” I hear him say.
Is this some white truth or muddied Grey?

“There are no words but these,” says he.
“What then,” I wonder, “What of me?”

“There are no words and that is all.”
Is this true? Is man so small?

There are no words he shakes his head.
“Alas,” I say and we are dead.