It remains stained - Foltos marad

Intro "I hold my hand as the devout do in prayer, but it's not faith inside, it’s my heart. It throbs in my palm, clearly visible between my fingers. I can’t always take care of it. Sometimes I drop it. It falls from my hand, when a child dies, when people are shot, when the helpless are tortured, when the world around me, lashing out in fear, fills me with dread. Then it falls onto the dirty asphalt, twitching, helplessly floundering in the filth. It’s not a pretty sight, it’s disgusting. I have to pick it up again, but it can’t be cleaned, the dirt, like emotions, leaves a stain on it. By the time I die, the world will have so dirtied my heart, that I will gladly let it go forever." end [outro] [fin]