Recitative
In the middle of the war, there is a small chapel with broken windows. Floor is covered by shards of broken glass, and in a dark corner a preacher is kneeling, surrounded by a crowd of little children, and he is praying.
They only hear sirens which predict a certain death.
Blasts of war bombs mixed with scream of crippled men.
Despair and hopeless sound from the broken windows.
And a death. And a death.
One of those scared children has a question.
„Why is god punishing us this way?“
And he can´t answer him without shame.
Not god. This perdition is our fail.
This mad society of spineless reptiles,
ransacked this world only for their own gain.
There’s no trace of good inside us.
Only certainty are just death and pain.
Father, but our souls can live forever.
Why, we just can´t focus this way?
And he saw a spark of hope in that child.
When a shard of broken glass took him away.
Recitative
In a deadly embrace the preacher realized, that untouched soul of this child, despite all the evil, which she could meet, is wiser than the rotten generation, that brought this greedy devastation. And preacher died believing, that our world is not doomed.

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