The smile on my face is fake,
war is master of my thoughts.

Autumn’s clad in raiment of winter,
the future takes on a gloomy shape.

Where each Jack is all right,
and each elbow pointed.

The rain jealous
as bombs, too, fall from the sky.

And peace is hungry,
it finds no alms on feast days.

Life draws towards darkness,
but still I have hope
that come the end of the road
a candle burns for us.