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Lo! ’t is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
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Burn in fire, drown in light,
Harsh desire, morbid bright!
Smell of fortune, poisoned blood,
Heartless torture, cult of mud.
Pray! Your body is condemned to
Decay! Last seconds of your life is fade...
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Tens of thousands tons of biomass,
Hundreds of brave and mighty heroes
Are prostrated at once and
Converted into bloody forcemeat medley.
Cadaveric worms have made their work
Now again infernal machines
Of death slowly are creeping on
Mountains of the bones yellowed with age.
Clouds of dust and white ashes are
Rising up into air of battle,
That filled only with bones crunch
Breaking under panzer divisions weight.
Roar of assault weapon is combining
With groans and screams - these are
Enemies and traitors, who appeal
To mercy in the last seconds of their lifes.
Flag with inverse pentagram
Is streaming in wind above the killing ground.
Heretics are dead, dissents are suppressed,
Only submission and total domination.
Worship horned lord and his reign!
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