At tear fell onto my letter, I shouldn't have cried but I let her, play with my heart strings again. When will I ever learn?
Cross my heart and hope to die, I will love you until the rivers dry.
Take temptation in my stride, not worth you, I will walk the line.
When I found you, you had broken down, no one would touch you except to throw you out.
I washed your cuts and made your debts mine.
Your leader asks it will you walk the line?
Pardon my manners, pardon my French, my style is dated, my skills are honed, my fingers clumsy, my steps pronounced , you'll feel my presence before I am announced.
I laugh at your last offices, Magda turns her head to gaze upon her starlings who gaze back to her in death.
What does it matter? Exit the stage, one final vanity before the grave..
Red velvet curtains torn into flags, children soldiers crushed under tanks.
Obsequious in life and cowardly in death, your casting couch is soiled, your caliper is singed.
Kolberg seems like a dream to me now, where the soldiers came to make celluloid, redirected from the approach.
Kolberg survives though the others have all died as Napoleon tried to drive them into the sea. The final act will be our doom.
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