What future here have we right now at present,
while what we have is all we battled for,
while selfish hopes are all we have at our core?
Who dreams great dreams while little lives are pleasant?
What future here with muffled cries of grieving,
that rise up from the concrete pavement stones,
what future here surrounded by grief's soft moans?
Who dreams great dreams while life is so deceiving?
What future here amongst the dying sleepers,
why battle on while swords and ploughs are wed,
why fight the fight while life ends with a deathbed?
Who dreams great dreams while demons are their reapers?