The Coming Tribe
Thy nations lay dead,
Mourn them not,
For they would not mourn thee,
If it were thy body that lays in rot.
What once was thy nation,
Before into death it slipped,
Sits motionless without eyes,
Knife held in dead man’s grip;
There to stab thee in thy back,
As thou came to its defence,
For it became thine enemy,
And the spiteful creature would not relent,
Given the chance to plunge the blade into thee,
So be thankful that it lies lifeless with empty veins,
For if it were to rise from death it would only be a matter of time,
Before it came at thee with knife in hand again.
Devoured by parasites,
As decay takes the wretched thing,
Jackals now surround the wolf,
And to the fight the sheep thou brings.
Why dos’t thou wish to let thine enemy,
Make of thee a weeping martyr?
Why dos’t thou look upon a bloated corpse,
And call it “father”?
The soul of thy nation died long ago,
A cadaver thou inherits and protects.
Embrace the struggle freedom brings in tow,
Lay thy stagnant way of life to rest.
Look instead to those days yet to come,
In which new tribes shall form,
And from their seeds shall new nations come,
New peoples from us shall be born.
Ruthless wolves that they shall be,
Lions of life, above men they stand,
Breaking through the suffocation of the modern life,
To breathe the skyward air of the Overman.
Do not lash thyself to a corpse,
But give thyself to thy future nation yet to come,
For thy progeny shall come forth,
With rebirth of the Holy Sun,
Birthed in flames of war and hardened by trials of iron,
Living and breathing are thy emerging tribe,
So give thine own life and breath to it,
And like a mighty oak it shall rise.
Thy nations lay dead,
Mourn them not,
For they would not mourn thee,
If it were thy body that lays in rot.
What once was thy nation,
Before into death it slipped,
Sits motionless without eyes,
Knife held in dead man’s grip;
There to stab thee in thy back,
As thou came to its defence,
For it became thine enemy,
And the spiteful creature would not relent,
Given the chance to plunge the blade into thee,
So be thankful that it lies lifeless with empty veins,
For if it were to rise from death it would only be a matter of time,
Before it came at thee with knife in hand again.
Devoured by parasites,
As decay takes the wretched thing,
Jackals now surround the wolf,
And to the fight the sheep thou brings.
Why dos’t thou wish to let thine enemy,
Make of thee a weeping martyr?
Why dos’t thou look upon a bloated corpse,
And call it “father”?
The soul of thy nation died long ago,
A cadaver thou inherits and protects.
Embrace the struggle freedom brings in tow,
Lay thy stagnant way of life to rest.
Look instead to those days yet to come,
In which new tribes shall form,
And from their seeds shall new nations come,
New peoples from us shall be born.
Ruthless wolves that they shall be,
Lions of life, above men they stand,
Breaking through the suffocation of the modern life,
To breathe the skyward air of the Overman.
Do not lash thyself to a corpse,
But give thyself to thy future nation yet to come,
For thy progeny shall come forth,
With rebirth of the Holy Sun,
Birthed in flames of war and hardened by trials of iron,
Living and breathing are thy emerging tribe,
So give thine own life and breath to it,
And like a mighty oak it shall rise.