The True Image

You had the Führer in pastel,
In oil, printed, in plaster,
As a large model, as a small model,
In a brown shirt with a tie.

With his lock on his forehead,
A bit unkempt,
That’s how he was your lucky star,
That’s how he led you.

You wore him as an amulet
Around your German neck,
Day and night, even in bed,
You wore him also

As a medallion, as a signet ring,
And as a cufflink,
He adorned, when possible,
Even the pipe bowl.

On coffee mugs, tableware,
Adolf‘s noble head is displayed,
In your mind, it was wild and confused,
You believed in him.

In nursery and salon,
A Führer picture hangs in each,
In Königsberg, Berlin, and Bonn,
People were imbued with him.

Stamps show his portrait,
Even on the silver money,
Which you haven‘t seen for a long time,
Because paper is used,

Hitler‘s likeness was embossed,
One saw him everywhere,
In porcelain, as fretwork,
On little Hans‘ rubber ball.

A house altar was built for him,
He was the German God,
And Germany danced for many years
The Adolf Hitler trot,

The German war and temple dance,
The dance on the volcano.
He wore a wreath of advance laurels,
And you were mistaken.

Gradually it dawns on you,
That you‘ve been deceived,
He didn‘t bring the kingdom of heaven
And the blissfulness.

With countless Hitler images
En face and en profil,
In bronze and stainless steel,
You still won‘t reach the goal.

You are exhausted and drained,
The dream was not fulfilled.
You are starved and ragged,
That is the true image.