The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood.

And over the pond are sailing Two swans all white as snow; Sweet voices mysteriously wailing Pierce through me as onward they go. They sail along, and a ringing Sweet melody rises on high; And when the swans begin singing, They presently must die.

The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear.

God will forgive me; that's his business.

Of course God will forgive me; that's His job.

Communism possesses a language which every people can understand - its elements are hunger, envy, and death.