Masterpieces Don't Come Just Like That

Masterpieces don't come just like that, And they don't appear out of nowhere. Sometimes you write — and frankly — it's crap! But even a symphony is born from an étude. Same goes for people, too: One saint per hundred million. A product of the decay of nuclear ideas. The fruit of countless men's and women's moans. The untamed and mighty ocean, carrying a ferocious tsunami to the shore! Behind it a ferocious whirlwind-hurricane Destroys everything made by hands… And people, cities… now they are no more. Hundreds of new ones will come to replace the old. Oh, how many years it will take To build everything in the new world from the ground up. And never mind, they'll build and plant again, For a holy place never stays empty. A different blood will run through the new people, And new rivers will begin in new beds. And a new order will come to rule. Or a very well-forgotten old one. Someday the eternal ice will melt And the cream of society will write their memoirs. Masterpieces don't come just like that. Masterpieces are the sacrifice of generations. Any simpleton can become a masterpiece, Having passed through an eternity of incarnations.