On statues drowned in modern dust The angels weep but do not rust A paper cross, a velvet noose Hung from the lips of charlatans loose The tide comes dressed in sober grey With Reich-slick boots and tongues that pray Not in pews, but in parliaments Where memory dies in ignorance Ashes in the urn, but they burn too clean The ghost of Rome in a fascist dream One flag, one face, one fatal creed— And Europe sleeps, while demons lead A voice in France, subdued, contrived Whispers “submerged” as if deprived And rallies cheer what once was shame The jackal’s cloak, the martyr’s name Austria signs with a poison pen Where cold men speak of pure blood then From Sweden’s pact to Poland’s throne The choir sings in monotone Ashes in the urn, but they burn too clean The ghost of Rome in a fascist dream One flag, one face, one fatal creed— And Europe sleeps, while demons lead These are the hands that shook with hate Polished white, yet reek of state The center folds, the right remains Crowned in votes, cloaked in chains No sirens sound, no soldiers march Just quiet steps beneath the arch Of stolen faith and sharpened grin The century turns... it begins again.
