Look o’er the killing fields,
Watch the corpses float away,
Bodies torn asunder
In the glorious month of May.

Where’s your madness,
Where’s it lie?
Have you bid your family
A warm goodbye?

I declare!
I am God!
So are you!
Perfection is our vice,
Murder our virtue!

I ask questions
But provide no answers—
That is up to you.
Take a stepping-stone or two
Through your mind
And you’ll probably find
There’s no difference
Between me and you.

Hey, hey, did you see
What the papers said?
Something about you and me
And all the things we couldn’t be.

Oh, Stephen, do you remember
The things we said?
I don’t.
But I remember you
And all the things I wanted to do-
Things that I’d never do,
But I’d have done them for you
If you’d asked me to.