We sever our common sentience easily
Blame returns as a hunter of conscience To disparate lives built upon weakness
The grace of our gentler trust slumbers
Sleeps in these uneasy truces of ignorance
And once kinship if safely veiled in doubt
It does not easily weaken in its censure
It lingers ever brooding in the darkness
As we close our eyes to unnecessary loss
And in bloody dreams of ruin do we sleep
And we may live long on this wretched legacy
But always there is one chance to awake
And restore what remains of fairness
For adaptation is never come too late
To save a madness of unremitting conflict
Of our expanding war against each other
