What can I write, that had not been written?
What can I tell, that had not been told?
Something beyond, not the usual rhythm,
Something apart, and yet something whole.

How can I do that, if everything's ruined?
How shell I live, if everything's dead?
The world's doing nothing, and yet keeps on doing,
Something so cruel, so full with dread.

So tell me yourself, what is that we're doing?
Whatever is that we're burning and kill?
Look at yourself, and look all around you,
You'll know what it was, but would it be still...?