adieu foulard

the dark disaster broken by harsh light

patter of voices sound of running feet

these lives that ended they were not so sweet

that does not matter for we had no right

to trample these brief hopes in the hot night

ignoring the short cry of mi nu dweet

the blotless orders always seem so neat

not so the blood and ordure in our sight

the noble man no brute can't bear the blame

see how the sorrow weighs upon his face

adding it seems another dozen years

we will not think of yet another name

the one whose presence we can't seem to trace

who sums up all our terrors and our fears