I wanted to write a song for Ukraine,

But I gave up almost straight away.

An expert was required, ideally

Someone who would burrow into corners;

Go beneath the surface to smell the soil,

Who would press wounded flesh and procreate

And clasp lost strangers to their belly’s bulge.

But how could I find a person like this?

Advertising? Perhaps. But in real life,

I knew I had to head toward the hills,

And to wait by that unbeatable view

For somebody sitting and reciting

From the pain of a life already done,

And staring, defiant, into madness.