Fling the facetious corpses in the fountains
So as the red blood overflows the brink;
Keep on until the blue Alsatian mountains
Turn a reflective pink.
Should any female whom your shadow touches
Grudge you the glad, but deferential, eye;
Should any cripple fail to hold his crutches
At the salute as you go marching by;
Draw, in the KAISER's name—'tis rank high treason;
Stun them with sabre-strokes upon the poll;