The Tank Miracle

Everyday, hecatombs
Of Bolshevik tanks are perishing,
Astronomical figures,
And the newspapers show photos.

Russia’s soil is strewn with
Corpses of crushed tanks,
That new ones keep appearing
Seems miraculous to us.

Is there no end to their supplies,
Will they never be exhausted,
Devilishly rich reserves of power
Which the Russians are utilizing?

And the figures we read
In the DNB columns
Seem almost unbelievable to us
And leave us speechless.

And they saw people doubting,
And they tried to explain the facts,
And what we read today
Calmed our doubts.

And so they wrote every week,
That our retreat was elastic,
And thus the Russian gets his hands
On the corpses of his own tanks,

And he collects them
And starts repairing them
And constructs new tanks
From the old wrecks.

Hydra with ever new heads;
Like a phoenix, newly resurrected,
The Bolshevik tank
Has proven its capability.

It smashes the German positions,
Always forward! is its motto,
Everyone finds it astonishing
And they are happy and think it’s tremendous.

Yes, a nation that achieves such,
Gaining ground with old shards,
Must surely win the war
And must destroy its enemy.