There factory sirens begin, / infinitely long / droning, to yawn
“The Dead Liebknecht” Rudolf Leonhard, Der tote Liebknecht, 1919
His corpse lies throughout the city,
in every courtyard, on every street.
is matte from the flowing of his blood.
There factory sirens begin,
droning, to yawn,
to echo hollowly throughout the city.
And with a gleam
his corpse begins