Those outdated clichés in two-bit refrains
Everywhere, do we have to add more rhymes
To those millions of poems
It's déjà vu, I know
Rehashed a thousand times
We're sick of those stories
Yet each of us got lost in them
But people pass, and time's futile
In nights too dark
When everything wavers and collapses
Men play at fear
With the worst, with power, with dying
At random, at hating or lying to each other, for pleasure
Men size each other up, dream
And drink and allow themselves
Ridiculous little soldiers
They challenge each other then slip away
Amid the ashes and the pain
And other skies to come
To give birth rather than destroy
One of them is mine
Like unexpected, my providential one
She makes my life worth it