Brian Eno's Bone bomb | Permalink

My body. . .

so thin, so tired.

Beaten for years.

Ploughshare to bomb.

So hard.

Bone bomb. Bone bomb. Bone bomb.

My town. . .

so dusty, so dry.

Buildings pushed over.

Lives heaped together.

Young girls dreaming of beautiful deaths.

Popstar pictures above their beds. . .

above their heads.

Troops.

Everything stolen except my bones.

Now I am only bone.

I waited for peace. . .

and here is my peace. . .

here in this still, last moment of my life.