The places we have known do not belong only to the little world of space on which we map them for our own convenience. None of them was ever more than a thin slice, held between the contiguous impressions that composed our life at that time; the memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years. - Marcel Proust
Transformed into arrows let's all go, body and soul! Piercing the air let's go, body and soul, with no way of return, transfixed there, rotting with the pain of striking home, never to return.
One last breath! Now, let's quit the string, throwing away like rags all we've had for decades all we've enjoyed for decades all we've piled up for decades, happiness, the lot. Transformed into arrows let's all go, body and soul!
The air is shouting! Piercing the air let's go, body, and soul! In dark daylight the target is rushing towards us. Finally, as the target topples in a shower of blood, let's all just once as arrows bleed.
Never to return! Never to return!
Hail, arrows, our nation's arrows! Hail, Warriors! Spirits of the fallen!