Lyrics zu „Howeverstillalive“

Howeverstillalive feat. Werner Brix & David Wurawa
by: Die Kinder von Wien
Lyrics: basierend auf Marx Augustin & Robert Neumann

This book of fiction, with fictitious characters, in a fictitious setting called Vienna but which could be anywhere east of the Meridian of Despair, is addressed to the men and women of the victorious countries. It was written for the sake of the children of Europe, in two months of their misery in the winter of 1945-46.

Geld is weg,
Mensch is weg,
Alles hin, Augustin,
Alles hin, Augustin,
Alles is hin.

Rock is weg,
Stock is weg,
Augustin liegt im Dreck,
Augustin liegt im Dreck,
Alles is hin.

O du lieber Augustin,
O du lieber Augustin,
Alles is hin.

Und selbst des reiche Wien,
Hin ist’s wie Augustin;
Wants mit mir im gleichen Sinn,
Alles is hin!

Jeder Tag war a Fest,
Und was jetzt? Pest, die Pest!
Nur a groß‘ Leichenfest,
Des is da Rest.

They are too lice-ridden, Lord, and too bug-ridden, Lord, and they are too frost-ridden, Lord, and disease-ridden, Lord, and ridden altogether to repent, my dear Lamb, Jesus. But they will rise!
Hosts and legions of them and millions and millions of them I can see rise for a great day of resurrection. Resurrection. I can see them rise, an army a hundredfold more terrible than those slain in battle.
Kids with blown bellies. Kids with smashed heads, with torn-off limbs, with blue tongues sticking out of their gaping mouths, as they dragged them from the gas vans and threw them into the nearest pit. Kids, rotting without eyes, with maggot dropping from their sockets. But they will rise!
That will be the great day of reckoning!

Augustin, Augustin,
Leg‘ nur ins Grab di hin!
O du lieber Augustin,
Alles is hin!

It will be the great ghost army of reckoning, and there will be no difference to be seen between those slain by Nazi bullet or Allied bomb, there will be no difference between German plague or Russian or Polish plague, there will be no difference for a soldier of that army of reckoning if he froze to death or died of hunger in the winter of tyranny or in the winter of liberation.

Augustin, Augustin,
Leg‘ nur ins Grab di hin!
O du lieber Augustin,
Alles is hin!

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