The battle is thundering, the armour is shining,
Copper cannons are roaring,
The troops are running, the horses are rushing
And red rivers are flowing.
The midday is blazing -- people are fighting,
The sun is declining -- the fight is stronger,
The sunset is fading away -- but the enemies
Are still battling more fierce and hateful.
And night has fallen on the battlefield.
The armies have parted in the darkness...
Everything has fallen quiet, and in the night's mist
The groans have risen to the heavens.
Then, illuminated by moonlight,
On her battle horse,
Shining with the whiteness of her bones,
Appeared Death; and in the silence,
Taking in moans and prayers,
Full of proud satisfaction,
Like a field marshal she circled around
The place of battle,
And having ridden to the top on the hill,
looked around, stopped, smiled....
And above the battlefield
Roared her fateful voice:
"The battle is finished! I won over everyone!
You all submitted before me, soldiers!
Life has made you quarrel, I have reconciled you!
Stand up as one for the parade, corpses!
Pass in front of me in a pompous march,
I want to count my troops;
Then deposit your bones into the earth,
It is sweet to rest from life in the ground!
Year after year will pass,
And even the memory of you will disappear.
I will not forget and loudly above you
Will hold a feast at the midnight hour!
With a heavy dance I'll trample
The raw earth, so that the realm of the grave
Your bones will never be able to leave,
So that you'll never rise from the ground!"

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About "Field Marshall"


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