What is finality, anyway? Is anything final? The last nail pounding into a house can be pulled out. A mountain washed away to sand can be reborn by tectonic action, and the sand itself, by pressure and time, can again become schist. If I were thrown into the heart of a star I would become the elements of which I was composed and then eventually ejected into the Universe to become part of something else. Even infinity isn't final, for there is always room for one more there. As the music dies and the echoes fade, the song is never stilled but it carries on in the minds and hearts of the hearers, even if no one but the singer hears it. Finally, we see that nothing is final.