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O God, take the sun from the sky!
It's burning me, scorching me up. God, can't You hear my cry? Water! A poor, little cup! It's laughing, the cursed sun! See how it swells and swells Fierce as a hundred hells! God, will it never have done? It's searing the flesh on my bones; It's beating with hammers red My eyeballs into my head; It's parching my very moans. See! It's the size of the sky, And the sky is a torrent of fire, Foaming on me as I lie Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . . Of the thousands that wheeze and hum Heedlessly over my head, Why can't a bullet come, Pierce to my brain instead, Blacken forever my brain, Finish forever my pain? Here in the hellish glare Why must I suffer so? Is it God doesn't care? Is it God doesn't know? Oh, to be killed outright, Clean in the clash of the fight! That is a golden death, That is a boon; but this . . . Drawing an anguished breath Under a hot abyss, Under a stooping sky Of seething, sulphurous fire, Scorching me up as I lie Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . . Hasten, O God, Thy night! Hide from my eyes the sight Of the body I stare and see Shattered so hideously. I can't believe that it's mine. My body was white and sweet, Flawless and fair and fine, Shapely from head to feet; Oh no, I can never be The thing of horror I see Under the rifle fire, Trussed on the wire . . . the wire. . . . Of night and of death I dream; Night that will bring me peace, Coolness and starry gleam, Stillness and death's release: Ages and ages have passed, -- Lo! it is night at last. Night! but the guns roar out. Night! but the hosts attack. Red and yellow and black Geysers of doom upspout. Silver and green and red Star-shells hover and spread. Yonder off to the right Fiercely kindles the fight; Roaring near and more near, Thundering now in my ear; Close to me, close . . . Oh, hark! Someone moans in the dark. I hear, but I cannot see, I hear as the rest retire, Someone is caught like me, Caught on the wire . . . the wire. . . . Again the shuddering dawn, Weird and wicked and wan; Again, and I've not yet gone. The man whom I heard is dead. Now I can understand: A bullet hole in his head, A pistol gripped in his hand. Well, he knew what to do, -- Yes, and now I know too. . . . Hark the resentful guns! Oh , how thankful am I To think my beloved ones Will never know how I die! I've suffered more than my share; I'm shattered beyond repair; I've fought like a man the fight, And now I demand the right (God! how his fingers cling!) To do without shame this thing. Good! there's a bullet still; Now I'm ready to fire; Blame me, God, if You will, Here on the wire . . . the wire. . . . Unsatisfied? Search for more:Other Cool Sites:Hot Arts & Stage NewsLyrics Catalogue Sound Tracks Guide Guide to Serials and Shows English Subtitles For DivX Movies Hundreds of Cooking Recipes Over 5000 Cocktails Recipes Cool Online Encyclopedia Cellulars Descriptions and Reviews Algorithms Dictionary Funny Jokes and Anecdotes. Usenet Newsgroups Reader |