Morten Harket - Brodsky Tune

As you pour yourself a scotch, Crush a roach or check your watch, As your hands adjust your tie - People die. In the towns with funny names, Hit by bullets, caught in flames By and large not knowing why - People die. And in small places you don't know of Yet big for having no chance to scream Or say goodbye - People die. Let me know! Let me know!... People die as you elect New apostles of neglect, Self restraint whereby people die. Too far off to practice love For thy neighbour, brother Slav Where your Cherubs dread to fly, People die. While the statues disagree Cain's version, history For its fuel tends to buy Those who die. As you watch the athlets score Or check your latest statement Or sing your child a lullaby - People die. Time, whose sharp, bloodthirsty quill, Parts the killed from those who kill Will pronounce the latter tribe, Will pronounce the latter tribe As your type.