Historians' Bombs

Dropping historians' bombs To be more alone Wasting scientists' tears To quench their thirst The telephone rang I kept myself sane Pushing the hardest button Far away from home Sweeping the slaughterhouse Before the lights black out They must be dead And now I'm on my bed Living in a puppet show With the guys I don't know Planting the guilt of Adam Under the carousel God has slept And now I play his chess