I just can't tell if the wheel has stopped
or if I've forgotten to die,
20th century's over, boys,
and I just cannot say why.
Are people haunted by the bomb
or by their neighbours face,
is it the better way to play dumb,
when you're losing the race?
Fire behind us and fire within,
to whom shall we turn,
when we're not able to win?
To whom shall we turn
when we don't find the key?
Saviour left like some refugee.
But there is life in the trees, in the grass, in the air,
it is'nt over, He's waiting, He's willing to care.
I'm at my darkest point like anybody else,
blessed are the old ones, we just got wishing wells.
© by Patrick Rabe, 29. 9. 2018.