Sometimes, things end. They go up in flames; they meet a fiery end. Or not. They die out; they fizzle. Maybe you have 1,000 reasons why; maybe you have none. Whatever. The end.
Sometimes, these self-same things start again. For lots of good reasons, say, or perhaps none at all. The poppy opens. The chorus screeches. The (new) beginning.
It's one of those times.