For the anthem that
decorates the room
In blue and red,
A petite brunnette
Loses her very head.

In other districts
Where one shall die,
They hang or fry
In that dimly lit district
That one may live to try.

For Marxist dreams
The old reality screams
Wanting katharsis.
Reality anguishes,
Love now languishes.

For unlike my
Dreams of love afar
Across the sea
Reality not free
Wants one not to bleed.

For the anthem that
decorates the room
In blue and red,
A petite brunnette
Loses her very head.

Whether its gallows
Or a Soviet cartridge
Across the winter hallows,
Or a guillotine.
Or a guillotine.

One can only dream, Of a better world, where one shall not bleed.