Napalm Death - Continuing War On Stupidity

What he felt was not pity and not even anger at an unfair world order, but rather some kind of deep confusion and shock. If he were a believer - he believed, of course, but not in the generally accepted sense - he would now have to complain to God for a mess in the universe or, in any case, would have thought puzzled about the discrepancy between reality and ideal. But Nimram's thoughts went in a different direction. God has nothing to do with it, but reality and ideal are purely academic things. The only thing that Nimram was aware of when he looked at the sleeping girl — an unhealthy pallor on her face, her head hung loose, insensitive, like inanimate — the only thing he knew was his complete helplessness. Lucky, he can’t do anything and therefore is no good, worthless to him, to him and his whole life, lightweight,useless to anyone, like an old fungus-fungus, like liquid smoke leaving for the sky. He was almost unfamiliar with her, but he felt now, although he knew that this was not true, but it could have been true, if the girl had really been his daughter, then only Nature would allow, the mother of anxieties and silence, - and he would not hesitate to exchange lives with his neighbor.