The years pass.

More years have passed now since he died than he was alive. My hair is white now. It was brown when he died. I have a general's star on my shoulder, he has a stone on his grave. We fought and defeated one enemy, only to meet another. But for every day I'm glad he doesn't see, there's a thousand days I know he should have seen. For every sorrow I rejoice he wouldn't know, a thousand joys I weep he doesn't feel.

With every year I grow older, with every year his memory fades further.

The years pass.