But here, under the sun,  
where events can't be undone;  
once superstition's spent -  
        You gotta know,  
        we want our brothers back. 

It came as a shock,  
we'd shut our eyes.  
Is this all that's left,  
just a slow good-bye? 

The curators frown  
and they wax abstract.  
But, man, if you've found love  
what could matter more than that?  

It's a crime and a shame (selfish and vain)  
to try to justify this pain.  
I guess they'll think what they will -  
       But before the dawn  
       they'll want their brothers back.