Robert Oppenheimer, Enrico Fermi and their friends
Had developed a weapon for their leader and his men
With a kind of weapon that wouldn't have an equal
The ultimate and final harvest would at last be full
There in the fields of eternity, full with the fruits
Forests clear cut, burned, removed at their root
Life, dream, memory and purpose to be taken
In humanity's triumph, we will be forsaken
And just know, that for no other reason
Than that our species commits treason
To itself and the world surrounding
With no other purpose than killing
For a vile pleasure in taking life
To desecrate all sacred ground
If the radiance of a thousand suns were to
burst at once into the sky that would be
like the splendor of the mighty one.
I am become Death, the
shatterer of worlds.
J. Robert Oppenheimer
& The Bhagavad Gita
