Annual Birthday Party at the Zeppelin Field, Nuremberg, Germany

He stands at the podium projecting out over the field
Grips the railing, his hands a ghostly white
The master orator had no speech to practice today
That normal tone of voice rising to a fever pitch
The thousands of soldiers standing at his command
Extending their arms and shouting praise to him
His arms are too heavy to gesticulate wildly anyway
Glancing behind he sees no eagle, no swastika banner
Nothing to frame him in his former glory again
Again he stares out into the stark and empty field
No bright searchlights to celebrate his god-like being
The asphalt surface cracked, the weeds sprouting up
Taking their territory back because Nature always wins
Which he didn’t know, didn’t think about life’s precious brevity enough
Realize he was just passing through, and didn’t get life right
Didn’t act in any way to make this world a better place
Choosing to conquer and murder everything that’s good
He grasps the gun, knows the annual penalty by bloodless heart
And with just enough strength to raise it to his again
He pays the price, his eternal curse, and blows his candle out once more