On The Pavement Of My Trampled Soul

But I, From Poetry's Skies, Plunge Into Communism, Because Without It I Feel No Love.

Gentle Souls! You Play Your Love On The Violin. The Crude Ones Play It On The Drums Violently. But Can You Turn Yourselves Inside Out, Like Me And Become Just Two Lips Entirely?

Love's Ship Has Foundered On The Rocks Of Life. We're Quits: Stupid To Draw Up A List Of Mutual Sorrows, Hurts And Pains.

Too Slow, The Wagons Of Years, The Oxen Of Days--too Glum. Our God Is The God Of Speed, Our Heart--our Battle-drum.

Comrade Life, Let Us March Faster, March Faster Through What's Left Of The Five-year Plan.