Without politics other than freedom
the teeth of politics chow us to bits.
Tanks celebrate our tombs
tumbling down this momentary house of cards
built on the liberty of rooftops.
Cliches of death dangle from our trees.
We become slowly dying men
hanging on to hands of a monster clock,
trying to postpone its striking hour.
Never having had this freedom
we sample it on burning boulevards,
while murder is shared with poisoned bread.
Cordite paprikas our food.
We blunder into comrades we have never known.
When surrounded by cannon the spirit creates
a louder thunder. We rise above ourselves,
but Europe stands by watching history
as though it were immune.
Tomorrow these avenues will be scrubbed,
schoolbooks replace our guns,
prisoners locked away into frozen forevers
Now for us the winds wail and swim away
like newspapers sinking deep into the Danube.