Wolf Biermann: Stock-taking Ballad in the Thirtieth Year

Into my thirtieth year I've turned
With no living to be earned
Paying dear for all I've learned
With many a feather flying
Early honor was my lot
More than one emptied chamber pot
And the crown of thorns I got
I simply left them lying
And yet: the dog's-tongue flower blooms
Even in puddles and muck
We're laughing still
Still we do nothing but joke

Why only with that fateful thrust
Did my father do it, must
He plant me in my mother's womb
—It could be so that later
With my ballads I could whack
On her snout and on her back
The German bureaucratic sow
Every fat pink operator
And yet: the dog's-tongue flower blooms ...

In other words, I chose to mix
Quite uselessly, in politics
They swept me off with just two flicks
As they would a bee
And when I turned against the hand
That feeds, I broke my sting there and
They grabbed and ground me fine as sand
Religiously
And yet: the dog's-tongue flower blooms ...

This Germany is a rat-filled nest
My friend, if hired you do your best
For D-marks, whether east or west
You will be eaten
And while they're nibbling at you still
Paying you badly, digesting well,
Before next morning without fail
You'll be forgotten
And yet: the dog's-tongue flower blooms ...

I used to sail with a stiff mast
To many a fair one, where moored fast
I missed the others as they passed
You can't be everywhere
But now my fine boat has a leak
The planks are rotting week by week
And to my horror as I speak
Sharks gather there.
And yet: the dog's-tongue flower blooms ...

Time truly hustles us along
A few years you are young and strong
Then slowly down you go among
The dregs of history
We're not the first to fight alone
Trying to smash a despot's throne
And get no thanks, not one bare bone
And cease to be.

And yet: the flower of freedom blooms
Even in puddles and muck
We're laughing still
Still we do nothing but joke

And yet: the dog's-tongue flower blooms
Even in puddles and muck
Still we do nothing but joke