Voices of the dead are all around
Everyone alive seems much less real.
The smoke and screams and bombs and blood surround
Enduring through the love I still can't feel.
Reality is rarely in the present
As truth and falsehood are defined by pain.
Nor can I stand one moment that is pleasant.
Sanity to me just seems insane.
Death is more attractive than a wife,
And loneliness a far less lonely life.
Yet I must turn and somehow live