TRUTH: There is but one Fatherland, I
The homes of the peoples of the world. But one virtue, disobedience. But one loyalty, each to his own soul. All wars are from Rulers for the gain of the Masters.
POET: The Rulers are bitten with an adder, And the people die.
TRUTH: The Oppressors fiddle and the people dance.
POET: A dance of Death.
TRUTH: The Bellied God snarls. And the mothers feed him the wages of their agony.
POET: I hear the Idolaters saying, "Oh, God of Gold, God of Battles, "We will feed thee the young men carefully chosen,
without blemish ; "We will lay upon thy altar the future generations ; "Though they be the poets of the world."
TRUTH: The gowned men, like rock ravens black upon a carcass. Croak : "Oh, God of Love, give us victory over our foes. "Strengthen our hands
"So that we may make the most widows and orphans. "For Christ's sake."
POET: The Black Angel is riding. His coursers are thick in the air. I hear the whirl of the chariot wheels. And I see the flashing manes of his steeds as
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