I Don't Think We Can

Our Rages, Daughters Of Despair, Creep And Squirm Like Worms. Prayer Is The Only Form Of Revolt Which Remains Upright.

But I Shall Give Less Thought To The Future, I Shall Work In The Present. I Feel Such Work Is Within My Power. For I Only Succeed In Small Things, And When I Am Tried By Anxiety, I Am Bound To Say It Is The Small Joys That Release Me.

A Large Number Of Suspects, Both Men And Women, Escaped Martial Law For Lack Of Any Shred Of Evidence Against Them On Which A Court-martial Could Convict. So They Began Setting Them Free In Groups, According To Their Birth-place. But Half-way, The Car-load Would Be Emptied Into A Ditch.

I Don't Think We Can Ever Learn Much From Ultra-sensitive, Shifty Faces, Skilled In Disguise, That Hide Themselves In Lust, As Beasts Hide To Die.

And What Have You Laymen Made Of Hell? A Kind Of Penal Servitude For Eternity, On The Lines Of Your Convict Prisons On Earth, To Which You Condemn In Advance All The Wretched Felons Your Police Have Hunted From The Beginning - Enemies Of Society, As You Call Them. You're Kind Enough To Include The Blasphemers And The Profane. What Proud Or Reasonable Man Could Stomach Such A Notion Of God's Justice? And When You Find That Notion Inconvenient It's Easy Enough For You To Put It On One Side. Hell Is Not To Love Any More, Madame. Not To Love Any More!