We have no choice but to destroy, Every note,nAnd every prototype and every page,nWith every pen related to, To our words.nThough it will surely cost us alln- All our thoughts, Though it would only say we're sorry...nnAll evidence was sent to torch - By our pain.nAnd that seemed like a bit of sky that night.nMost of us saw the springtime stars, By the lot.nAnd afterwards we had to tell - Tell ourselves,nThat certain plans have secret endings...nnWe fleeted back to listening. See reason;nWe have created this expensive mess.nThe laughing voice was deafening - Who could know?nWell there's our letter send it now.nWhat wonders?nWhat will we have then to remember?nn