DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Take-Off, v. 1, issue 1, circa 1944

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Take-Off, v. 1, issue 1, circa 1944

Page 9

TAKE-OFF! Page 9

Roll on, thou strong and churning Panzers--roll!
Five million men attack thy guns in vain;
Planes mark the earth with ruin--their control
Stops with the sky; upon the embattled plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A British flier living; with a moan
He crashes to the earth, his bombs in vain--
He smashes to the earth with tittering groan,
Without Churchill or Rosenfelt, unGerman and unknown.

His wings do not reign o'er thy path--they fields
Are not his playground: for thou dost arise
When raids are over; the vile strength he wields
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
Mocking him in the flashing, flarelit skies,
And sendst him, shivering in the ack-acy spray,
And howling, to his drone, where dancing eyes
Of British girls may charm him every day,
And soothe his fear till he is killed--or so they say.

Blockbusting bombs which thunderstrike Berlin,
And shutter WIlhemstrasse with their quake
Are but the work of Capitalist-men
And Communistic Jews, who fortunes make
From all but Germans; and vain title take
Of Democrats, and Christians of the War;
These are our foes: all mercy they forsake,
And gloat above the weary ruins, which men
Alike the Luftwaffe's death, or Stalingrad afar.

'Tis true we've lost some ground; we've lost the sea--
Tunisia, Kharkov, Sicily--what are they?
Mere heathen lands we tried so hard to free
From Jew-dominion; their dumb folk obey
The Russ, the French, the English; they decay,
Cut off from German culture!--not so, thou--
So loyal in the true old German way--
In spite of loss, thou still canst raise a row!
Such as the screaming Poles beheld, thou rollest now. 

Thou glorious Army, over which the Fuehrer's face
Grimaces itself in tantrums: in all time,
In lull or combat, ready, full of grace;
Smashing the Czech, or in Italia's clime
Still fighting;--brave, invincible, sublime,
The hope of future victory!--the wits
Of all sky Prussians made thee; caked in grime,
But mighty still in endless war; each Fritz
Obeys thee; thou marchest forth, and scoreth deadly hits.

(Continued on page 10)

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TAKE-OFF! Page 9 Roll on, thou strong and churning Panzers--roll! Five million men attack thy guns in vain; Planes mark the earth with ruin--their control Stops with the sky; upon the embattled plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A British flier living; with a moan He crashes to the earth, his bombs in vain-- He smashes to the earth with tittering groan, Without Churchill or Rosenfelt, unGerman and unknown. His wings do not reign o'er thy path--they fields Are not his playground: for thou dost arise When raids are over; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Mocking him in the flashing, flarelit skies, And sendst him, shivering in the ack-acy spray, And howling, to his drone, where dancing eyes Of British girls may charm him every day, And soothe his fear till he is killed--or so they say. Blockbusting bombs which thunderstrike Berlin, And shutter WIlhemstrasse with their quake Are but the work of Capitalist-men And Communistic Jews, who fortunes make From all but Germans; and vain title take Of Democrats, and Christians of the War; These are our foes: all mercy they forsake, And gloat above the weary ruins, which men Alike the Luftwaffe's death, or Stalingrad afar. 'Tis true we've lost some ground; we've lost the sea-- Tunisia, Kharkov, Sicily--what are they? Mere heathen lands we tried so hard to free From Jew-dominion; their dumb folk obey The Russ, the French, the English; they decay, Cut off from German culture!--not so, thou-- So loyal in the true old German way-- In spite of loss, thou still canst raise a row! Such as the screaming Poles beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious Army, over which the Fuehrer's face Grimaces itself in tantrums: in all time, In lull or combat, ready, full of grace; Smashing the Czech, or in Italia's clime Still fighting;--brave, invincible, sublime, The hope of future victory!--the wits Of all sky Prussians made thee; caked in grime, But mighty still in endless war; each Fritz Obeys thee; thou marchest forth, and scoreth deadly hits. (Continued on page 10)