We have come to close grips you and I have locked hands, from my heart the blood drips and you weaken. What then? One will be overthrown, one will be beaten - and you are the one. So you doubt it? You don't feel afraid? But I've planned every move to be made. I'm putting my heart in the fight, and you'll be beaten - degenerate, venomous life. It's not now that we're starting, you know. Our duel began long ago. Our duel with passion we've waged for many long days. For days we've locked our arms and wrists. I'll never forget your brutal fist. In the mine gas exploded. The layers of coal buried fifteen men below. Buried fifteen human corpses. One of them was I. By the door of a slum lies a smoking gun, while the corpse slowly freezes. No shouting, no din, one bullet then - dirt for the bin. It's easy as that... No fighting. No passion for life, and no fuss. Don't you know who it was? It was I. On the rainwashed pavement the victim lies shot dead from an ambush. The sky has been mined and will crash on the square. But the man lying there in the pool of blood is my brother - a fire of hatred and love in his glassy stare. The villain, the loathsome gunman instantly vanished from sight. You remember the rogue? It was I. But do you remember a child that died in Paris on the barricades, a child that died in battle with gory retrogression? The warm blood in his veins grew slowly cold as steel, and then his lips were parted on a fleeting smile. But though his lips turned blue, his eyes still burned with zeal as it his eyes were singing: "Liberté chérie!" The child lay there shot - in the chill grip of death. Do you know who it was? It was I! Do you remember an engine with gay optimism piercing the fog where even the birds do not dare to descend through the mist-laden air? An engine with wings that cleave the cold curtain and change the earth's orbit, with gasoline vapour's explosion clearing the way toward progress. The engine which sings high above is the work of my hands, and the song of my engine is the blood of my heart. The man whose shrewd eyes were glued to the wavering compass, the man who had dared to defy the cold northern frost and the mist - do you know who it was? It was I. I am here and there. I am everywhere. - A worker in Texas, Algerian docker, or poet... Everywhere am I! Do you think, life, you'll win? You evil and scowling, dirty thing! I blaze, you blaze, and we're both of us bathed in sweat. But you're draining your strength. Growing weaker, declining. That's why you're ferociously driving your sting into me, in the terror of imminent death maybe... For then in your place, with toil and sweat we'll build up together in company a life we desire, a life we need, and how fine that life will be!
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