I face the firing squad alone Beneath a canopy of learned women We dream of stories undefiled Tossed into the sunrise And damaged by a fire We are forever broken In the deep-fried hours of the morning You collapse the course of history Is it better to be afraid of the dead Or to respect them She whispered to me We are all alone and neglected Grief overtakes my exit strategies And I am instantly reminded Of visiting Prague in the springtime I have no clue why i mention These isolated images and feelings to you Perhaps, to one day be deserving Of something beautiful again