I don’t need to see more things,
I have seen quite enough.
The wings and light the morning brings,
The pigs about the trough.

The oldest tales of love and lust,
Of murder and the hunt.
The remnant shards of hard-won trust,
and truths both kind and blunt.

Yet ‘neath the ancient starry skies,
The rich man’s wars go on.
While ev’ry brook and wild bird cries,
“She won! She won! She won!”