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War, there is nothing to add to that that hasn’t been said or done before—
I’ve lost all knowledge of it; I’ve sweated it out, like the rain in the jungle—
Names once at the tip of my lips, I’ve long forgotten, they are like faded manikins
I have no more remembrance, and I’m sure when I’m dead, I’ll quickly be forgotten too, faster than one puts on his shoes
War, there is nothing to add to that that hasn’t been said before,
but I’ll say it once more: the dead are dead, and seldom remembered—
and I’d rather be a live dog now, than a boring dead lion then
The sun only revolves around the living, earth around the dead
Stones, bones, earth and sadness, and twisted halos are at funerals,
with the wings of angels, and horns of devils, all waiting, waiting
all waiting to see who will get to carry me, to carry you off with the dead
Wrapped in white linen, or wrapped in rages, who’s to say?
All I know is that I’ll fall to sleep some short day, into nothingness,
among all the dust and bones,
among the dead leaves and soil, and be placed in some lone cold graveyard,
waiting just waiting for my resurrection, wherever, whenever God points his finger to wake me up…
No consolation for the dead, no light no nothing
Just waiting with all the boring, lifeless forms, from all the wars, which could fill up all the valleys of the whole world, and more?
Thank God that the world isn’t flat
War, war, there is nothing to add to it, that hasn’t been said before…!
No: 2714 (6-1-2010)
War, there is nothing to add to that that hasn’t been said or done before—
I’ve lost all knowledge of it; I’ve sweated it out, like the rain in the jungle—
Names once at the tip of my lips, I’ve long forgotten, they are like faded manikins
I have no more remembrance, and I’m sure when I’m dead, I’ll quickly be forgotten too, faster than one puts on his shoes
War, there is nothing to add to that that hasn’t been said before,
but I’ll say it once more: the dead are dead, and seldom remembered—
and I’d rather be a live dog now, than a boring dead lion then
The sun only revolves around the living, earth around the dead
Stones, bones, earth and sadness, and twisted halos are at funerals,
with the wings of angels, and horns of devils, all waiting, waiting
all waiting to see who will get to carry me, to carry you off with the dead
Wrapped in white linen, or wrapped in rages, who’s to say?
All I know is that I’ll fall to sleep some short day, into nothingness,
among all the dust and bones,
among the dead leaves and soil, and be placed in some lone cold graveyard,
waiting just waiting for my resurrection, wherever, whenever God points his finger to wake me up…
No consolation for the dead, no light no nothing
Just waiting with all the boring, lifeless forms, from all the wars, which could fill up all the valleys of the whole world, and more?
Thank God that the world isn’t flat
War, war, there is nothing to add to it, that hasn’t been said before…!
No: 2714 (6-1-2010)
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