Fellow man
lying lifeless
On the
battlefield
Palms filled
with my blood
Head caught
under my body
Leg over my
arm,
I don't know
what your name
is
Or your guilt.
Maybe we're in
the same army
Maybe we're
enemies.
Perhaps you've
heard of me:
I'm the guy
who sings in
Istanbul,
Was shot down
over Hamburg,
Wounded on the
Maginot Line,
Starved to
death in
Athens,
And fell
captive in
Singapore.
I didn't map
out my own
fate.
But I know, as
much as those
Who mapped it
out for me,
The taste of
strawberry ice
cream,
-<* The joys of
jazz,
And the pomp
and glory of
fame.
I know you
like the gifts
of life
Other than tea
and danish,
Other than a
fairly warm
overcoat.
How about
artichoke
vinaigrette
And creamed
partridge,
A glass of
Black & White,
And a suit fit
for a king?
See, all the
toil of twenty
years
Is good enough
for just one
bullet.
That's fate
for you,
To start anew
in the Harkov
region.
No matter.
We have
carried the
flag all the
way here;
Others will
carry it
further.
After all
there are
Two billion of
us in the
world
And we know
each other
full well.
