How distant my Swabian* youth seems now.
I made a glider which really flew, you know.*
Not far, but yes, it carried me! I soared!
  
Some accused me of being a showboat,
of tooting my own horn. . . . I learned early
that the laurels don't go to the meek or the bashful.
  
Yes, I was a ****. Those aristocrats
on the General Staff* belittled the Fuhrer--
but where had they gotten us?
I liked his enthusiasm and optimism.
We were in a hole; he led us out,
got the economy going again,
restored the Sudetenland and Danzig.
(Danzig where Lucie and I had been married!)
  
I thought Poland would be the end
but when we attacked in the West
I didn't shrink away.
My troops and I were the very spearhead:
strike quickly; do the unexpected.
  
Who was I to deny
Germany's world-wide destiny?
  
The African war agreed with me.
The open space gave a latitude to my strategy
lacking in hilly, forested Europe.

The victory at Tobruk is often cited
as the height of genius, military.  
I, myself, prefer what preceded it:
the retreat into Tripolitania--
salvaging men and tanks, shortening supply lines,
lulling the British into complacency;
turning and stinging at Agedabia.

El Alamein: the Fuhrer and I part company.
"Victory or Death", he cabled me.
I disagreed: my men would not die senselessly.

We were desperate for gasoline.
Ship after ship was sunk trying to deliver it.
(Lax Italian security, no doubt.)
  
We were outnumbered five to one.
I favored withdrawing immediately,
consolidating troops in Europe.
The Fuhrer wouldn't hear of it.
  
I flew to East Prussia to confront him.
He'd grown pudgier, more strident--
wouldn't give an inch.
I sensed that not just Africa
but the war as a whole would be lost.
The weight of the forces against us was crushing.
The only question'd been their willingness to fight.
That had been answered at Stalingrad.
  
I fought on in Italy and in France,
hoping to convince the enemy
that the price of taking Europe--
especially Germany--
would be too high.

I really thought we had a chance
to stop them on the beaches.
But now that we've failed, our destruction's inevitable.
  
I've tried to make the Fuhrer see reason:
surrender to the British and Americans;
don't let our country be overrun by Russia.
  
He condoned ******--
ordered me to **** the French Jewish soldiers
who'd surrendered at Bir Hacheim,* for instance,
(I didn't) -- and much more. . . . And yet,
and yet, I couldn't quite bring myself to wish him dead--
and certainly never took part in that plot--
though, yes, I knew of it . . . after a fashion. . . .
Defending myself to that group would be hopeless. . . .
Lucie and Manfred must be spared
the humiliation of hearing me declared a traitor.

I bestrode the plains of Africa--
Rommel, the invincible--
always with the troops where the battle was most critical.
I was crafty and brave,
dared to act when others shied away.
I was the apple of the Fuhrer's eye;
idol of the German people;
scourge of the British military.
All the world applauded me. I lost--
but only when outnumbered overwhelmingly.
  
Now I sit in the back of this Opel*--
an outcast, a criminal--
waiting to take a cyanide pill.

We failed to assess properly
the will of other nations to honor treaties
and preserve their freedom.
And, more basically:
Were we right to force our rule on other people?

Icarus-like, we flew too high.

We were bold and strong
but it seems, in the end,
in the end, not supermen.

I want to be famous
I want to be known
I want to be loved by the masses

I want a stage to perform
I want millions of people to scream my name
I want the world to shed tears when they hear my voice

I want to be an icon
I want to dress in designer clothes
I want to be on the cover of every magazine

I want the press to write about my talent
I want the press to write about my beauty
I want the press to write about my grace

I want to break world records
I want to go down in history as the best
I want to be remembered forever

I then realize that with fame comes a jarring sense of loneliness
Because although you have millions of fans that chant your name
And a cast of characters that help you succeed
And expensive clothes
And all the money in the world
No one knows, and will ever know, who you truly are
And you won’t ever know the people or their story
Because you’ve become a two-dimensional figure with
No flaws
No insecurities
No regret
With no time to spend on anyone but yourself

It’s funny
When you’re famous, everyone knows who you are
And yet
You don’t understand a thing about what you’ve become.

In lingerie up on stage
It was a different age
Sultry sighs and bad mullets
It was all rock and roll

A teenage cherry bomb
A girl gone wild
Free to run away
Along a yellow brick path

I see it in the stars
Both cosmic and mortal
I feel it in the air
The world is about the shake
And I'm going to be the earthquake

Vintage as an advantage
Retro and grunge,
Shabby chic,
Whatever you call it

Like an angel, Judgement,
Calls the dead
It will be a resurrection
Singing and crooning,
Triumphant trumpets

So grab your guitars
And some mates
It's time to start a band

Bright lights!
Neon signs!
Pounding sounds
with citrus scents.

Focus on me.
Zoom in.
Zoom out.
I'll be all they see.

All eyes on me!

Wet cement!
Handprints!
Deafening silence
with the smell of freshly burnt oak.

Focus on me.
Flashing lights.
Blinding colour.
I'll be all they see.

All eyes on me!

Big billboards!
Magazine covers!
Spotlight on me
and the crew sets up scene.

Focus on me.
Dig your nails into me.
Leave your scent on me.
I'll be all they see.

I'm everyone's favourite.
I'm in control.
The society is crumbling.
They hum a lulling beat.

With their eyes on me.

Got girls dragging me in every direction,
got me deciding who’s cool and who’s a distraction,
all these reactions to their reactions,
has me needing a recess to retreat from all this action,

but I guess that’s what I get,
for being one of the Main Attractions,
a magnetic poet with ******* stanzas,
dramatic romances and poetic patterns,

hey friend remember back when,
you’d act natural and things would just naturally happen,
instead of being in something that seems reused and rehearsed,
like all the world’s a stage and we’re all just actors acting,

hey friend remember back when,
we’d act casual and things would just casually happen,
as if these writings weren’t written in present past patterns,
as if I haven’t gotten bigger than any of those assorted Randoms,

with a bunch of instances of coincidences,
that are anything but random,
which has switched this kid’s position,
from being random to being one that’s obsessed on by randoms,

and it’s strange to say the least,
how this change has occurred in such a subtle fashion….

See she was my most casual stalker,
just wanting some time to share my space,
see she was me several years ago,
before all these changes in me finally took place,

she was a socially awkward Closet Genius,
the closest thing to me I’d seen since fame,
closed to most of the world which she felt was dangerous,
see she only opened up to me because here’s where she felt safe,

so I warned her of the Energy Vampires,
then wondered if she was one of those Vampire Dames,
you know the type that act all hyped,
then as soon as they leave you you feel drained,
at any rate I warned her to beware of those that stare,
and told her her soul is worth more than any amount of fame,
then excused myself from the entire situation,
because it was time for me to put on my cleats and return to The Game,

return back to writing these writings which wrote me to fame,
and I know it sounds complicated but really it is simple,
only requires a potent combination of mixing the answers,
with the questions in the middle of pros composed as riddles,

like,

how I’ve got girls dragging me in every direction,
got me deciding who’s cool and who’s a distraction,
all these reactions to their reactions,
has me needing a recess to retreat from all this action,

but I guess that’s what I get,
for being one of the Main Attractions,
a magnetic poet with ******* stanzas,
dramatic romances and poetic patterns,

hey friend remember back when,
you’d act natural and things would just naturally happen,
instead of being in something that seems reused and rehearsed,
like all the world’s a stage and we’re all just actors acting…

∆ LaLux ∆

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