Die Granate

A relief from stress, such a sweet paradise A deafening crash then a blinding light Poor boy, your fate is sealed like loaded dice. Due to beastly luck this child I must smite. Perhaps he'll go where I have yet to behold; This kind, bereaved, extinguished progeny. Ill-fated boy, please reach those gates of gold. Oh, child! Why walk the streets of Germany? Fully at rest for all eternity, All I can do is hope forever that Maybe the last thing you saw wasn't me. My last image? Your torn figure laid flat.