Do not talk of unhealing wounds,
talk of the weapons.
Talk of the hands which used the arms
and talk of the brain which pressed the trigger.
Violence was primitive but the cruel eyes had a new glint,
At night they ransacked, stamped and burned the relics.
Is it the retrovirus of a new menace
dreaming the feast of thousands of corpses
choking the drains?
Why are we heading for the slaughter of earth,
pure vengeance to turn the sun gloomy and black?
This time the river will turn aside and not meet the ocean.
It will spread out in the parched land of thirst and die for a cause.