We are alone on this stage in a vast cosmic arena
Think of all of the rivers of blood
Spilled by the generals and emperors
So that in glory and triumph
They could [bad word] 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 [bad word] wrong

How frequent our misunderstandings
How eager we are to kill (x2)

Look back at the pale blue dot
And try to convince yourself
God created the universe
For a mot of dust suspended in a sunbeam