Here you will find the Poem Bosnia Tune of poet Joseph Brodsky
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 good-bye people die Chorus: La, la... 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 Chorus... While the statues disagree Cain's version, history for its fuel tends to buy Those who die As you watch the athletes 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 As your type. 2nd Version: As you pour yourself a scotch, crush a roach, or scratch your crotch, as your hand adjusts your tie, people die. In the towns with funny names, hit by bullets, caught in flames, by and large not knowing why, people die. In small places you don't know of, yet big for having no chance to scream or say good-bye, people die. People die as you elect brand-new dudes who preach neglect, self-restraint, etc. ?whereby people die. Too far off to practice love for thy neighbor/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 athletes score, 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 band as your brand.