I meet with two soldiers sometimes here in Hell
The one, with a tear on the seat of hi red pantaloons
Was stuck by a pitchfork,
Climbing a wall to steal apples.

The second has a seeming silver helmet,
Having died from a fall from his horse on some tram-lines
In Dortmund.

These two
Meeting in the vaulted and vaporous caverns of Hell
Exclaim always in identical tones:
‘I at least have done my duty to Society and the Fatherland!’
It is strange how the cliché' prevails...
For I will bet my hat that you sent me here to Hell
Are saying the selfsame words at this very moment
Concerning that exploit of yours.