We cling to the paper skin of the earth
because it may throw us off tomorrow.
Watch closely, Observe:

The grasping hands find one another,
fitting together like pieces of an old puzzle.

The gleam of a tear in the dark,
the arms of a father encircling his child;
these are the last whispers of an endangered race.

The earth may throw us off tomorrow
and dance in the sunlight on the next day.
Expect no pity, no compassion;

Even the tenderest kisses sear the skin.