Mother Willow stood on the river bank dangling her fingers in the crystal clear water. Suddenly she heard the moaning groaning sound of someone in terrible pain. She knew immediately it was a man. He was the only living species capable of self-inflicted suffering. She inspected this particular specimen, which had plopped down next to her, trying to discern the cause of his distress. There were no signs of blood sucker bites. He hadn’t been blown over by a gust of wind, nor burned by a blistering sun. No, it was as she had expected, he was fine.
We know the body dies
We know the body goes into a box
And the box is buried
We know that what is in the box under the ground is not alive