Survival is an accident,
We never planned to hang around.
Just chance that we’re still here, some say,
Good luck! I say –
It doesn’t matter anyhow.
All this is pointless, said the man
Who stood neck-deep in opiates.
He was the only one who smiled
While all the others feared the end.
Robespierre saw through it long ago,
He found the only thing he could:
A childish joy in chopping heads
And taking charge of what else would
Have been the whims of an indifferent
Who are we kidding – it still was,
And it is, and it still will be.
All that’s against it is this here:
A long dead poet’s testimony.
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