O my fellow sufferers, songs of my youth,

A lot of asses praise you because you are “virile,”

We, you, I! We are “Red Bloods”!

Imagine it, my fellow sufferers—

Our maleness lifts us out of the ruck.

Who’d have foreseen it?

O my fellow sufferers, we went out under the trees,

We were in especial bored with male stupidity.

We went forth gathering delicate thoughts,

Our “fantastikon” delighted to serve us.

We were not exasperated with women,

for the female is ductile.

And now vou hear what is said to us:

We are compared to that sort of person

Who wanders about announcing his sex

As if he had just discovered it.

Let us leave this matter, my songs,

and return to that which concerns