And what is left, since all now has been said,
but the salt tears of those who can't forget
the sunny day, begun with no regret
and ended after sight of falling dead?
A moment and the blue sky turns to red;
we're told that now we've got to make the bet.
The die is cast, the purpose now is set,
and decency and reason have long fled.
The count of death rises without a pause
and we are numb under late summer sky
to anything but our imagined pain.
We have no need for honour nor for laws,
only desiring the most soothing lie.
All memory vanishes in the hard rain.