Your bombs can change the seasons,
obliterate the spring.
What more do you long for ?
Why are you suffering ?
You control the human lives
in Rome and Timbuktu.
Lonely nomads wandering
owe Telstar to you.
Seas shift at your bidding,
your mushrooms fill the sky.
Why are you unhappy ?
Why do your children cry ?
They kneel alone in terror
with dread in every glance.
Their nights ["rights" ? - Schrift nicht lesbar] are threatened daily
by a grim inheritance.
You dwell in whitened castles
with deep and poisoned moats
and cannot hear the curses
which fill your children's throats.