There's harvests soaked and full of dead;
There's Prussians prowling after loot
And choosing who they'd better shoot;
There's kids gone lost; there's fights for bread.
It's thanks to that there strip of sea,
And what floats on it, you and me
And things we love aren't going shares
In German culture. They'd 'a' tried
To spare us some, but we're this side.
It's so arranged—no fault of theirs.