Towards a distant town of riot and alarm
where the naked blade of the guillotine shines,
with a sudden mad desire, my heart goes forth.
The dull drumbeats of so many days
of storm and silent rage,
sound the attack in every brain.
On the dark belfry the old clock face
beams its disc to evening’s depths
against a firmament of crimson stars.
A death’s knell of footsteps resounds
and the great light of distorted roofs
confuses the capitals.
They who could secure no further
hope than in their own despair
stepped down from their silence.
Tell me then, what do we hear coming
along the paths of the future
and all so casually terrible?
The world’s hate in the ether
and fists to seize the lightning
stretched out towards the clouds.
The hour has come when the hallucinated,
the destitute and the uprooted
plant their pride upon existence.
The hour has come – yonder sounds the alarm;
against my door the rifle butts hammer
to kill, to be killed – what does it matter!