All the women, in the garden, picking little white tulips,
at a no name competition, beautiful who is more.
And the men reading newspapers, smoking cigarettes and laughing,
in the living room relaxing, speaking about war.
In Ukraine, in Ukraine, what an awful sound.
Hidden people, terrified, dying underground.
Kids are playing, kids are playing new computer games of bombing,
shouting furious one another, “you will live no more”.
And the maid, and the maid, carrying fruits and drinks and cakes,
begging them, “please eat it! Eat it”, stopping work at four.
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