We are alone on this stage in a vast cosmic arena
Think of all the rivers of blood spilled by the generals and emperors
So that in glory and triumph they could become momentary masters of a dot
Think of the endless men fighting and dying for a God they’re not sure exists
War and famine at what price?
We tell ourselves what we’re doing is right
But we’re so fucking wrong
How frequent our misunderstandings
How eager we are to kill
Look back at the pale blue dot
And try to convince yourself God created the universe for a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam
