The tolls of grilled men groan
With screeching moan of roasted car delight
Powder o’ bullets hither and thither
Red stream of wine flowing within
The air too dense in which to linger
Not a bee or bird or man hereafter

Hands up in melodies to the creator
Chaos to dust to turn soon
But alas the chaos can’t stop
For its nature
And we the mere players of the betrayal

The arbitrary notes of tears and timbers
Too high without real values which here shall foster
Weather in smoke and dust shall bear
And the bustles and hustles of machine shall not rot
But to ears drum and the trumpets torn

Here I stand in the melodies of creation
Of doom and dawn that awaits, not bloom
See the wind sway and hands shake
And thumps of notes too high awake

It bothers me, nay that is not a thing to say
For slaughter and ****** to me shall then sway
What is fixed is to be there
A change and soon the trigger shall whisper
‘I the Death that you fear shall tear the flesh away right here’
But stop I say for death I do not fear
Death better if a thousand others spared

This doom soon Zarathustra spoke
But men hath then joked
He a fool and others the cool
But see now after a thousand era cooked
Of that he predicts is what is true

Nay but no more to wait
If something to done is to be done right away
And guns to flowers turn
Bullets to ashes shall burn
When the Übermensch shall be awake
And things to peace shall return at bay
Time shall tell the ever-truth soon away
And the Unhappy Melodies shall be astray