if we are on the qui vive
why is there fucking
while the superstitious die many times before their deaths
I have seen your Belgian defection
and so rest you in the shadows
our war will be based on absolute deception
choke up the wells
destroy the cooking-stoves
burn your baggage and impedimenta
fight to the death
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem