In the twilight of the West
when the sun completes his crest
we prepare for the long dark.
For the world once so sure
does not appear quite secure
and the dawn may never spark.
But the light of the blasts
and the breaking of the castes
assures us of their target mark.
Let us then, night dwellers,
Bomb the world from our cultural cellars
And alight the world in her glorious stark.
For this night, our night,
Has long been our eager delight
And this tomb is our self-made dark.