It’s possible to destroy even hell
And turn evil to dust
With the dropping of shell after shell.
What remains is one man’s lust
Mating with his own cold will,
Giving birth to blood and rust.
Each bullet or bomb’s a pill
That plugs a hole in his brain,
Which is still,
As is Ukraine,
Where a young child fell
And didn’t get up again —
Her killer dares her now to tell.
