On the concrete balcony is Brilliant Comrade
waving at the parade of glorious
banners and Kalashnikovs protecting paradise
He will stand firm against the imperialists,
and rally all loyal patriots
to the eastern seas of victory

But to the south men see victory,
slowly watching every comrade,
aching to abandon fellow patriots.
They see their existence as glorious,
working hand in hand with former imperialists,
to create a glass and steel paradise

Still, along the river, microcosmic paradise
persists with propagandists’ victory.
The gray ship as their reminder of when imperialists
were righted by a now-lost comrade.
There was something glorious
about those times of true patriots

Now ravenous hunger strikes stomachs of patriots
Clinging to the illusion of paradise,
trying to find something ephemerally glorious
to sustain that fleeting vision of victory.
But citizens tell their closest comrade
that soon they will be in the hands of imperialists

Through binoculars, see imperialists
in the digital olive drab of patriots
Conferring over oceans with a comrade
as to what may occur in paradise
Though there may be an inevitable victory
it may be anything but glorious

When Dear Leader departs with dirges glorious,
all will look toward imperialists.
Blinded with impossible certain victory,
out will pour millions of patriots,
artillery and steel their tickets to martyrs’ paradise.
And no one will be anyone’s comrade.

Oh, those glorious misguided patriots,
vaporized, in imperialists’ thousand suns, to paradise.
Victory comes with not one comrade.