I meet with two soldiers sometimes here in Hell

The one, with a tear on the seat of his red pantaloons

Was stuck by a pitchfork,

Climbing a wall to steal apples.

The second has a seeming silver helmet,

Having died from a fall from his horse on some tram-lines

In Dortmund.

These two

Meeting in the vaulted and vaporous caverns of Hell

Exclaim always in identical tones:

“I at least have done my duty to Society and the Fatherland!”

It is strange how the cliché prevails …

For I will bet my hat that you sent me here to Hell

Are saying the selfsame words at this very moment

Concerning that exploit of yours.