Bertolt Brecht

ST
HE
LY
It is considered low to talk about food

[Original]Ich habe dich nie je so geliebt, ma
Als wie ich fortging von dir in jenem Abendrot
Der Wald schluckte mich, der blaue Wald, ma soeurÜber dem immer schon die bleichen Gestirne im Westen standen
Ich lachte kein klein wenig, ...

Im Hofe steht ein Pflaumenbaum,
Der ist so klein, man glaubt es kaum
Er hat ein Gitter drum,
So tritt ihn keiner um

Schreib mir, was du anhast
Ist es warm
Schreib mir, wie du liegst
Liegst du auch weich

Let others speak of her shame,
I speak of my own
O Germany, pale mother
How soiled you are As you sit among the peoples

I confess this:
I have no hope
The blind talk about an escape
I see

We embrace
Rich cloth under my
While yours touch poor fabric
A quick

After the uprising of the 17th
The Secretary of the Writers
Had leaflets distributed in the
Stating that the

My young son asks me:
Must I learn mathematics
What is the use,
I feel like saying

My
Has told
That he needs me
That's whyI take good care of

Grace spare not and spare no
Passion nor
That a decent German
Flourish as do other lands

After the wailing had already begun along the walls, their ruin certain, the Trojans fidgeted with bits of wood in the three-ply doors, itsy-bitsy pieces of wood, fussing with them
And began to get their nerve back and feel hopeful