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 f**ing wrong
How frequent our misunderstandings
How eager we are to k**
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