When one sits underwater like this,
One often feels the desire,
To loosen the bonds
With one‘s own hands and one’s own will.
One observes with dissatisfaction
The small advancements
That England is making in Italy,
One critizises things.
One sees too little goodwill
And hear how people talk big,
The deceit becomes almost too much,
Your bile wants to overflow.
One sees that freedom has been felled,
Its statue, it is bound,
They packed it into a box
And sent it to the ground
Into the dark underwater sphere,
Where we too currently reside,
The tyranny still holds
All the trump cards in its hand.
We see the coffin of freedom
And suddenly hear a voice speak,
We hear through the wooden jail:
Help break my captivity!
There is so little one can do now,
Being underwater after all,
Yet we will do a whole lot more,
When we resurface later.
One would gladly take an axe,
And gladly let the casket burst,
And gladly set freedom free
With hammering and singing.
It is a wish, it is a dream,
We must continue to wait,
One is condemned to idleness,
Full of gloomy thoughts.
One finds the time idiotic and absurd,
Becoming a hater,
The best helmsmen stand on land?
No, they sit underwater!
Post-Editing: Simone Bloch
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