Out in the penetrating haze Of the natural world Weapons are used, not made. No battle is a war Out in natural light. And weapons are used, not made. Indifferent as she is, Nature picks no side, And so weapons are used, not made. When something is born, In natural light It is born creature, helpless So no weapon is born to be made. Yet under lightbulb, in man's metal warehouse In sanitary stink and entombed disembodiment, Some weapons are bred to be played.