Hodet er innstilt på å skrive noveller og andre diktninger, mens oppgaven skriker i fargeløse ord, at eksamen skal prioriteres først. Jeg får gi etter...

Bob Dylan - Masters of war (1963, anti-kald krig)

(sangen er klippet, dermed er den ikke i sin fulle lengde.)

Sangtekst:
Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just don't want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
While the death count gets higher
Then you hide in your mansion
While the young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

Tid.

Tid
eksisterer kun
i det
som skal
dø.

Og
tid -
eksisterer.


-C.