Memories On The Eve
At first it was a louse named Gysi,
by Herbert Nehrlich
he thrived in Stasi Germany
and made a comeback so much later,
relying on the stupid people.
The SED turned PDS, both communist
and antisocial, yet organised with slyness.
It took some time and then they found
corruptness, not his commy past
to nail him to the Church of Victory.
He had not hung more than one day
when Wowereit, with Brylcreem hair
and manicured pink nails so dirty
that pathogens did shy away in terror.
He liked the boys, and danced his steps
up one steep ladder to the attic
where no one saw his machinations.
Berlin, again the capital of Fatherland
oh how we praise you, has never been
a German town, always a renegade indeed.
So no surprise that blatant greed
and rank corruption and perversion
of laws and human decency there would reside.
I will not mention Helmut Kohl,
whose conscience yielded to pure blubber,
he was a connaisseur of ladies
yet fell into the septic pool of gold.
One could imagine how, in silent earth
von Doenitz turns and groans aloud
the world has gone in 60 years
down slimy tubes into decay, a final time.