Here’s a quote from Slaughterhouse n°5, a book about the present, a book I really like.

“Why me? Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything?
Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?”

Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim,
Trapped in the amber of this moment.
There is no why, there is no problem

Lingering on this endless process.
With lots of doubts, and lots of promises
Here we are again

Like a young trilobite whose fossil won’t tell
If it truly was made to sustain all that hell
Like a dinosaur skull who thinks of itself
Suspended between lime and mud and dirty clam shells

Like Ötzi the iceman, whose expression won't change
Like a badly stuffed saber-toothed, so frozen in rage
Like hand silhouettes who slap the bare rock
You growl and you swear to wear out the shock

Like rules made of clay in the British museum
Each cut is an action that stretches through eons
Like paintings and jewels, aligned for devotion
A glass case constrains their spellbinding potion

Like capitals and columns, wood thresholds and bricks
Like tourist resort islands, that float upon sticks
Like anything that neatly piles up derelicts
You’re part of a giant mega hyper structure but probably just a quick fix

Why me, why you, why anything, that’s true
Why me, why you, why anything, that’s true
Why me, why you, why anything, that’s true
Why me, why you, why anything, no clue

That’s true

Like photos of players all perfectly aligned
In albums of stickers whose blanks are to find
Each pack of new faces sealed up undefined
Its complete collection belongs to a mastermind

Like queens in a deck that hope to hold hands
Like domino tiles that aim to push back
Like a pawn in its black square, all proud in defence
You cheer and rejoy for what could come next

Like Heisenberg said, he wasn’t that sure,
The moment you look at it, you make it impure
Position, momentum, will hide and endure
Your intrinsic qualities are something obscure

Like atoms and bosons so fast but quite still
They don’t have a clue their host’s mentally ill
As part of a giant slug without living will
His memories are looping like a water mill

Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim,
Trapped in the amber of this moment.
There is no why, there is no problem

Lingering on this endless process.
With lots of doubts, and lots of promises
Here we are again.