Mr. Göring spoke:
I do not wish to live in darkness any longer,
I prefer the spotlight.
What could be more beautiful
Than to flaunt uniforms
Like a Lohengrin?
As a noble knight, proud and bold,
Even if one is a scoundrel.
The uniform elevates to godhood,
For clothes make the man.
But after the swastika‘s bankruptcy,
That would be a failure for me.
What should I do?
How can I extricate myself from this situation,
It will be terrible in Germany.
And to bloom in secret,
Like a violet, is difficult for me.
I must represent.
But if I no longer had a uniform,
That would depress me.
I would love to go to Africa
And become a Zulu .
There, a new life awaits me
Without suspenders.
Clad in a panther‘s skin,
Adorned with skulls,
I would quickly and thoroughly
Refine the Zulu tribe.
I would become the Zulu Reich Marshal
With a thousand honors,
Then my reputation would resound like thunder,
I would achieve something.
There is just one difficulty,
To fully assimilate myself.
The Zulu race is so far removed
From our noble races.
The significant difference
Should not be underestimated.
Otherwise, I would gladly run from the Reich territory
To Zululand.
The Führer spoke: My dear man,
That does not seem quite right to me,
Whether Zulu Negro or German,
It is of little importance.
Since I created the Third Reich
With its torturous torments,
We Germans are equal
In rank to the cannibals.
Post-Editing: Hanny Veenendaal
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