The troops are singing fervently, each for himself:
God, protect me from misfortune,
Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
That no grenades strike me,
Before I die, I must just find this rhyme.
Be quiet, my friends, and do not waste any time.
O you Berlin, you colorful stone, you beast.
You cast me with street lamps like briars.
A fog has destroyed the world so gently.
Bloodless trees dissolve in smoke.
And shadows hover where shrieks are heard.
A fat young man plays with a pond.
The wind has caught itself in a tree.
The pale sky seems to be rumpled,
As though it had run out of makeup.