The king sits unhonoured on his throne
As his soldiers are running away from the front line
The queen lies with honour on her bed
As her armies are marching to their own death
Fathers of freedom are mourning for their dead sons
Mothers of wisdom are crying for their lost daughters

Are there any people luckier than us whose parents miss their children?
Are there any poets luckier than us whose lovers can hear their lines?
What else can our parents miss? What else can our lovers hear?
Drum beats are calling, war is answering

The prince eats his breakfast lustily in his dining room
As his battalions are covering death with victory
The princess puts her make-up sensually in her bedroom
As her legions are facing death in the battlefield
Husbands of widows are fighting for their wives‘life
Wives of widowers are waiting for their husbands' victory

Are there any places better than ours which soil offers peace?
Are there any poems better than ours which lines give peace?
What else can our places offer? What else can our poems give?
Clocks are ticking, peace is waiting
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THE END