#wildermensch

For what do we work our hands, Down to wretched, arching bones,

When our ancestors did no such thing, But lived by force of arms alone?

For what glory do we toil, So that we might have meagre bread, 

When those before us weapons drew, And lived by their iron instead?

Why do we work as chided slaves, Tilling someone else’s land, When not so many years ago,

Our people lived with sword in hand?

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Is it not glory that you seek?

Not battle for which you yearn?

Do you not want that fire and life,

Once held in your eyes to return?

Well it won’t come with life as this, Only Misery and woe it brings,

For here only monotony, Is fit to reign as tyrant king.

So will you sit and work away,

Until your days of youth are spent?

I for one shall freedom take, Or I shall die in the attempt.

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Are we not sons of Father Mars?

Does not His blood run through our veins?

To see us hunched in such a state, He surely hangs His head in shame.

I wish to break these scathing bonds, Before my fleeting time elapsed,

I won’t remain a prisoner here, A workhorse caged and beat and trapped.

Will you choose dull and pitter peace, Or thunder of a bloody war?

You are free to choose your fate,

But I will suffer this no more.