Chapter 28 broken clock

On a cold winter night, guarding the fire with its trembling flame and green smoke curling up, Listening to the bell's bitterness and tenderness, Singing to the prayer bells that come flying through the mist, Distant memories slowly rise in my heart. Happy is the bell that rings loudly, Although it is old, it is still high-spirited and agitated, dripping pious cry, Like a battalion veteran. And my soul is broken, clothed with constant troubles, How many times I want to send its song into the cold air, But its voice is so feeble, As if a forgotten wounded soldier, Breathing heavily under the pile of corpses in a pool of blood,

After struggling several times, he was unable to move and died.