With My Buddy
When the last love song fades away
And our poisons take the last tree;
When the last kiss touches the last child’s brow,
Maybe we’ll finally see.
When the final drop of clean water
Succumbs to the last drop of oil,
We may see the end of greed unbound
And an end to the death-bringers’ toil.
When the last ‘Nutlos Esser’ is abandoned
On a mound of wheelchairs and frames
And the last child sings the last nursery rhyme,
We will finally understand shame.