Marching Song 1945
For the last thirty weeks
I have wandered through forest and field.
And my shirt is so full of holes
that you would hardly believe it.
I wore shoes without soles,
and my rucksack is my wardrobe.
The Poles have my furniture,
the Dresdner Bank my money.
Without home or family,
dull boots and all the rest —
yes, that was the famous
Decline of the West.
A thousand years have passed
along with his mustachioed majesty (Hitler).
And now we’re supposed to start all over!
Forward march, or it will be too late.
Left, two, three, four,
left, two, three —
because our heads, because our heads
are still solidly on our necks.