There is a Field Where Nothing grows Where in it, All Is fully grown There You and I Can never meet Pretending We Are not complete And in this field Is played a game And in this game Is made a name It all sounds simple Does it not Yet those who play Will never stop For once begun We fear the end And to the death Our name defend Some call it Love Some use Compassion Krishna, Allah Or what’s in fashion		If “Merry Christmas” Is not my greeting But something else Just as fleeting Would you rebuke And slam the door Or send in troops And go to war It’s just a game It should be fun We play as if It could be won It’s not the words It’s not the game Not You or I And not a name It’s just a Field Where Nothing grows For in it, All Is fully grown There You and I Don’t need to meet For We here, now Are most Complete