A man naive as stone, and no bad thing; entrapped forever in the dreams of youth that brace the soul, and stir the blood to sing with innocent facsimiles of truth Yet subtle knowledge ever graced his tongue of music, art and obscure history; so brilliant, yet so sincerely wrong— it baffled me that such a man could be So praise his futile vigils for our wars— And may he rest in peace, beneath red stars The Socialist – his banner high The Socialist – a scarlet flame The Socialist – born to defy The Socialist – too bold to tame Delusion, though, exalted him apart and gifted him with great, uncommon charm; such splendid madness ever warms the heart and fey Romantic gestures do no harm So praise his futile vigils for our wars— And may he rest in peace, beneath red stars So praise his futile vigils for our wars— And may he rest in peace, beneath red stars
