the dank weather of Nazism
It has been raining for a thousand years.
Mold and moss and mushrooms fructify.
How long, we wonder, till the weather clears?
Nobody in authority appears
to know, nor will they speculate as to why
it has been raining for a thousand years.
Underground sources, though, say these are tears
the ghosts of other, long-dead races cry.
How long, we wonder, till the weather clears?
Not that we worry, really. Our engineers
have raised up walls unfathomably high.
It has been raining for a thousand years,
a steady drizzle, a whisper in our ears
bidding us despair, despair and die.
How long, we wonder, till the weather clears?
Panicked reports come in from the frontiers.
The walls are crumbling, they say. The end is nigh.
It has been raining for a thousand years.
How long, we wonder, till the weather clears?
