The Warsaw Trifecta

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, November 22, 2013 Under: Rhymed Verses


"The Warsaw Trifecta"


I.

Roman was a wiry chap, noncompliant, nonchalant as can be
His in & out of school antics weren't what his papa wanted to see
He'd pop a molly with thieves, when cops had knocked him for trees
The way his mother bellowed at him would've put Pavarotti at ease
A sprouting adolescent, doing foolish things as only a young man can
but yet his heart was in the right place - like successful Frankenstein transplants
Pointy nose, raspy voice, he answered "yes" at the knock at the door
Then gunshots conjured a force that made his mom and pops drop to the floor

II.

Max was not only meticulous with his hands, he was a heartbreaker
Girls tried to turn back time - but his father was a watchmaker
born with malice engraved, he always loved the scent of trouble
What he lacked on common decency, he made up for with extensive hustle
he'd ascend a couple of staircases, handing out biodegradable drugs
No patience, no trust, confrontations were rough -
And when the chips were down, and morale had caved in enough
Godlessness was purveyor, instructor, town mayor & judge
He had no time to get involved with a selfish broad
His uncle Stanislaw used to say "plus the Nazi's don't exactly help the cause..."

III.

Henryk was no artillery man, he'd had thin, embalmed, gentle hands
A bookworm all his life, loyal member of the synagogue temple band
Now he's loading in the clips - ones that were preferably light
Earnestly striped, the university type, doing duty to quell Germany's strike
Was it futile? Would the resistance come crashing down to bits?
He was devastated... his wife & kids perished when his house got hit
Those rogue bunker busters; I guess it's likely true, that life is cruel
The cold world in which we live is one giant, icy pool

IV. Epilogue

These three ordinary city men had two things in common:
One, they were Polish citizens and kept the passion alive
Two, when the war came calling, they got drafted & died
I've concluded that the world's a dead dimension, the blacklisted kind
turned my back on the shrine, living during these blasphemous times
Having faith is like being ravaged and blind, ignoring labyrinth signs
in a realm where frosty particles flounder about & pathogens glide
Three Polish gentlemen - one everlasting demise
A grim reality for spirits destined to pass through the Rhine

In : Rhymed Verses 



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