Enter with tremor of eye
Or rush in with fervor to die
For evil’s fog hides the way
To and back the first day
Before the dark insane sky
Burgeons over children’s stay.
Ask the politicians if life’s fruit
Is more a true lie played on a lute
Or a false truth to rearrange
How Macheath lived so strange
So, to disguise the real face
Of Mac the Knife’s trace.
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