The thorn bird with a thorn in its breast,
It follows an immutable law,
It is driven by, it knows not what
To impale itself,
And die singing.
At the very instant the thorn enters,
there is no awareness in it
Of death to come;
It simply sings and sings
Until there is not the life left
To utter another note.
But we,
When we put the thorn in our breast,
We know,
We understand,
And still we do it.
Still we do it.