aklifaal
c paranoya
- Joined
- Aug 10, 2020
- Posts
- 677
- Reputation
- 944
The crippled trooper
O you lady girl with your bob haircut,
Don't you gawk at me and giggle like that, you shameless slut!
Don't you make fun of my legs for they are lame.
Ask away! That lameness, where did that came?
When you were swinging and dancing day and night,
I crossed the endless plains, the rivers, all in blight
The snowy peaks, too, passed the plateaus;
When you were dancing in the halls I have fought on the barrows.
O you lady girl who's lips are redder than the blood of mine,
Don't you gawk at me and giggle like that, you impudent swine.
What has happened to me should've embarassed your heart a little.
I know, ye, you're making fun of my clothes, for they are brittle;
I know that piece of cloth covering your thighs,
That single silken sock, Is mightier in prize,
Than my entire clothes… Even than myself, it is much higher…
I know: For what am I in this world, in this hellfire?
Who am I? Nothing… a good for nothing cripple…
Tis' your right, this world... for you tis' a tipple:
For when I fought the enemies in there,
You were drunk in the magnificent halls all in glare!
O you beautiful girl who's eyes are so strange to me,
O you innkeeper's daughter whom every traveler has tasted except me!
When you were rocking on foreign laps and howled louder,
I made my own love with blood and gunpowder.
When you were pacing around tipsy in those warm rooms, all capricious,
I was marching under the rain, under the storm, all vicious.
I shed blood under the snow, took many lives;
Learned to live without eating, without drinking, slept under the stones, without wives.
You were the green and flowery spring, like honey, I was the black winter, like pus.
That's how I've fought against armies who were stronger than us…
Don't you gawk at me and giggle as if you're so pure,
You, beautiful on the outside, yet inside a sack of manure!
You shall listen to this one who's roaring at you;
Today I will hold my trial against you:
When I was dying on the frontlines for the fatherland,
No matter the calamities, for their love of the land they had extended their hand;
My mother, My father, My wife and My daughter, ye, they were labouring,
Under the weight of mountains... Come, you owe me the answering,
Tell me, tell me! What did you do?
Worshipped Mammon, sniffed others behinds like a dog, that's what you do!
When the fatherland was drowning under a red deluge,
Under the pleasure and jazz bands, you took refuge…
O you ungrateful lass, you bitch, never forget this:
I ate that bullet while clashing for you, so you could paint your lips.
That's why my leg became lame,
That's why inside my furnace there's no more flame,
While you slept like a baby, coyly in your bed,
I took my nap in the bogs alongside with our dead.
My steelen chest was pierced with their blade,
Half of me died in that relentless battle, I was betrayed.
How did you live by, then? My blood, as if by a bowl...
Was wine for you, wasn't it? My martyr soul...
I suppose it was your Ambrosia! You ate and drank;
Like a bitch in heat you went rowdy, you dirty skank!
Though your name was "the star" in the saloon,
In truth you were "the whore", you poon!
O you blushing and shapely harlot may you know this:
At last I have learned about your treacherous bliss.
How could I tolerate your presence anymore?
Your death will be done by my wrath, you whore.
O you lady girl with your bob haircut,
Don't you gawk at me and giggle like that, you shameless slut!
Don't you make fun of my legs for they are lame.
Ask away! That lameness, where did that came?
When you were swinging and dancing day and night,
I crossed the endless plains, the rivers, all in blight
The snowy peaks, too, passed the plateaus;
When you were dancing in the halls I have fought on the barrows.
O you lady girl who's lips are redder than the blood of mine,
Don't you gawk at me and giggle like that, you impudent swine.
What has happened to me should've embarassed your heart a little.
I know, ye, you're making fun of my clothes, for they are brittle;
I know that piece of cloth covering your thighs,
That single silken sock, Is mightier in prize,
Than my entire clothes… Even than myself, it is much higher…
I know: For what am I in this world, in this hellfire?
Who am I? Nothing… a good for nothing cripple…
Tis' your right, this world... for you tis' a tipple:
For when I fought the enemies in there,
You were drunk in the magnificent halls all in glare!
O you beautiful girl who's eyes are so strange to me,
O you innkeeper's daughter whom every traveler has tasted except me!
When you were rocking on foreign laps and howled louder,
I made my own love with blood and gunpowder.
When you were pacing around tipsy in those warm rooms, all capricious,
I was marching under the rain, under the storm, all vicious.
I shed blood under the snow, took many lives;
Learned to live without eating, without drinking, slept under the stones, without wives.
You were the green and flowery spring, like honey, I was the black winter, like pus.
That's how I've fought against armies who were stronger than us…
Don't you gawk at me and giggle as if you're so pure,
You, beautiful on the outside, yet inside a sack of manure!
You shall listen to this one who's roaring at you;
Today I will hold my trial against you:
When I was dying on the frontlines for the fatherland,
No matter the calamities, for their love of the land they had extended their hand;
My mother, My father, My wife and My daughter, ye, they were labouring,
Under the weight of mountains... Come, you owe me the answering,
Tell me, tell me! What did you do?
Worshipped Mammon, sniffed others behinds like a dog, that's what you do!
When the fatherland was drowning under a red deluge,
Under the pleasure and jazz bands, you took refuge…
O you ungrateful lass, you bitch, never forget this:
I ate that bullet while clashing for you, so you could paint your lips.
That's why my leg became lame,
That's why inside my furnace there's no more flame,
While you slept like a baby, coyly in your bed,
I took my nap in the bogs alongside with our dead.
My steelen chest was pierced with their blade,
Half of me died in that relentless battle, I was betrayed.
How did you live by, then? My blood, as if by a bowl...
Was wine for you, wasn't it? My martyr soul...
I suppose it was your Ambrosia! You ate and drank;
Like a bitch in heat you went rowdy, you dirty skank!
Though your name was "the star" in the saloon,
In truth you were "the whore", you poon!
O you blushing and shapely harlot may you know this:
At last I have learned about your treacherous bliss.
How could I tolerate your presence anymore?
Your death will be done by my wrath, you whore.
