At the height of socialistic power
When each man does each man devour,
When everyone is clothed in dirt,
And ripped up pants and ragged shirt,
When all go hungry, have no hope,
On hands and knees do blindly grope,
They still do pray their happy prayers
And thank the gods that equal’s theirs.
Each man is equal, none has more,
For none is rich and all are poor
The end of selfless centuries
Is equal men on broken knees.
The socialistic height attained
Is nothing got and nothing gained,
And love-of-life is no more high,
But damned beneath the will to die.
The pride of action limps away,
Humility has its great day,
And all is crawling Paradise
For listless hands and shrunken eyes.
In socialistic glory man
Goes below whence he began;
He doesn’t stand, he doesn’t sing;
On withdrawn hand no champion ring.
With thought he has no thing to do,
No mental goal does he pursue.
He lives in total ignorance
Until one day he dies—by chance.
Great socialism shows its might;
Great altruism waxes bright;
Great selflessness restores the earth
With human race of faceless worth!
At socialism’s holy shrine,
Where all is “ours” and nothing “mine,”
The stench of Benedict Arnold breath
Fulfills the joy of loving death.
Sing hallelujahs, sing sweet praise,
You’ve reached your triumph—end of days!
Equality has set you free,
And now no longer need you be!