Strange to think sometimes
When the clock strikes and calendars days fall
That the turning of the world
And the dance of the stars
Has alighted us upon the shores of history
–
In some sense, every day is history
For some the best day of their lives
Others pure tragedy
Some nations will mark it will joy
Others immeasurable sorrow
–
Strange to know
Well in advance
That the next day will bring something
Something spoken about, triumph or failure
Which, though, completely unknown
