The same may be said of us someday. Bottom line read this great novella:
Here are the closing sentences of Denis Johnson's Train Dreams:
He (wolf boy)laid his head back until his scalp contacted his spine, that far back, and opened his throat, and a sound rose in the auditorium like a wind coming in from all four directions, low and terrifying, coming up from the ground beneath the flor,and it gathered into a sound that sucked at the hearing itself, and coalesced into a voice that penetrated the sinuses and finally into the very minds of thos hearing it, taking itself higher and higher,more and more awful and beautiful, the originating idea of all such sounds ever made, of the foghorn and the ship's horn, the locomotive's lonesome whistle, of opera singing and the music of flutes and the continuous moanmusic of bagpipes. And suddenly it all went black. And that time was gone forever.
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2012/s ... son-review