Berlin Prayer
The Spree Komtesse is groaning with passengers
The tables are laden with hams and bratwurst
This summer’s arteries are almost cut –
Out spill the last songs of the August nights
From all four chambers of her heart
And the black Spree takes us rolling and rolling
Cradling us down her armband of mourning
And in our sleep we dream of a prayer:
O night, Godspeed us into the morning
Let us be just as happy there! ∎
Words by Irina Husti-Radulet. Art by Ben Beechener.
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