The string is taut. I would play.
Alas the melody is not the one.
In battle a smashed guitar
They will no longer hear. Smashed with it is the height.

The string is taut. I would sing.
But instead of a song a groan-rage.
I would snap the taut string,
But they do not carry guitars.

There is no hand, for it was not looked after
On the minefield at night.
The taut string screams-is silent,
The string of the soul.