Even when Sundays and evenings come, Completely empty and listless I move about, I am completely glassy-eyed, play with dogs for fun, Ah, or with little stones that I find, Weary, without a thought, drag myself through the streets. I often also stand around at my window, At loose ends; should I just hang out at the local bar With my dull comrades, kill my weary Miserable hours in flickering movie houses And, to pass the time of day Look for willing girls: or should I merely Go back and forth in my room. I, who ran through the nights like a fool, Shrieking to the sky, sought a thousand miracles. Songs to Berlin 1 O you Berlin, you colorful stone, you beast. You cast me with street lamps like briars. Ah, when one flows in the night through your lamps After women, silky, plump. A man gets dizzy from the eye-play. The little moon-candy sweetens the sky. When the days struck the steeples. The head still glows, a red Chinese lantern. 2 Soon I must leave you, my Berlin. Must again travel into the desolate cities. Soon I shall sit on the distant hill tops. In dense woods carve your name. Farewell, Berlin, with your bold fires. Farewell, your streets full of adventures. Who has known as much as I have of your pain. Saloons, you, I press you to my breast. 3 In meadows and in pure winds peacefully Cheerful people may glide along gleefully. We, however, rotten and poisoned long ago, Would deceive ourselves with this stepping into heaven In strange cities I move about without direction. The strange days are hollow and like chalk. You, my Berlin, you opium rush, you bastard. Only he who knows longing knows what I suffer. Monday in the courtyard of the barracks The heat sticks closely to the gun and to the hand. It pricks the eyes. Nothing remained forgotten. The troops stepped, half drunk, into the fire. The non-coms stand rigidly in front. The glaring earth is a dead carousel. Nothing stirs. No one drops down. No streaked sky flies. Only rarely a hoarse barking tears apart the blue sow Which lies on the stone barracks. Now the army leaves me alone. Who still pays attention to me. They got used To my strange civilian eyes long ago. On maneuvers I am half dreaming, And as we march I compose poems. But war comes. There was peace too long. No more good times. Trumpets screech Deep into your heart. And all the nights are burning. You freeze in tents. You're hot. You're hungry. You drown. Explode. Bleed to death. Fields rattle noisily. Church towers fall. Flames in the distance. Winds twitch. Large cities crash. On the horizon cannons thunder. Around the hill tops a white vapor rises, And grenades burst at your head. Now of course