Death is being protested.

Not untimely or cruel death. Not death that was unfair or unjustified.
But natural death after a full life.

In the darkness of mourning, there are floodlights outside to keep the bereaved company. In the unspeakable grief, there are monologues of self-glory. In the harmless life of the commoner, there is unrest and uncertainty.

These are the days when everyone walks with their heads down, questioning the city and their presence in it.