Outfits colored green, marches in the streets.
The Ladies pluckered over cheeks,
Whispering, "sucre mou vous êtes ici. Peace".
Flame of love devours. Memory forgets.
Twenty-million soldiers outlined,
In the margin of history.
Whether the speeches from politics,
Had swayed our minds to forget;
Twenty-million was more than our tries.
Father, you're wrong.
My dear, the past was horrible,
Let's spread our love entirely.
If we spread only this moral,
Then I'm sure separatist will tired.
After all said and done. . . .
The revival of Nazism rear again,
To those who seek nothing but revenge.
. . . . Your heart: it's blackening.