J'ai fait trois fois le tour du monde
Vive le sang, vive le sang. . . .
Moi monsieur je suis anarchiste. . . . And three times round went our gallant ship, and three times round went . . . goddam it between that and money . . . and she sank to the bottom of the sea . . . we're in a treadmill for fair.
J'ai fait trois fois le tour du monde
Dans mes voy . . . ages.
Declaration of war . . . rumble of drums . . . beefeaters march in red after the flashing baton of a drummajor in a hat like a longhaired muff, silver knob spins flashing grump, grump, grump . . . in the face of revolution mondiale. Commencement of hostilities in a long parade through the empty rainlashed streets. Extra, extra, extra. Santa Claus shoots daughter he has tried to attack. Slays Self With Shotgun . . . put the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger with his big toe. The stars look down on Fredericktown. Workers of the world, unite. Vive le sang, vive le sang.
"Golly I'm wet," Jimmy Herf said aloud. As far as he could see the street stretched empty in the rain between ranks of dead windows studded here and there with violet knobs of arclights. Desperately he walked on.
