| This coffin’s for you, little boy, don’t be afraid, lie down, | |
| A bullet called life clutched tight in your fist, | |
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| We didn’t believe in death, look – the crosses are tinfoil. | |
| Do you hear – all the bell towers tore out their tongues? | |
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| We won’t forget you, believe it, believe it, be … | 5 |
| Belief bleeds down the seam inside your sleeve, | |
| | |
| Chants, prayers, psalms swell up in a lump in your throat | |
| In the middle of this damned winter all dressed in khaki, | |
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| And February, getting the ink, is sobbing. | |
| And the candle drips on the table, burning and burning… | 10 |
