Gavrilo! Gavrilo!
The masses chant his name;
he wonders at their temp’rament,
his head against the windowpane.
A knight of Jugoslavs!
In dream; too frail for fray;
a black hand seized him ‘round the heart,
he’d lead his people on the way!
Sarajevo morning!
A failure? Not for long;
a bullet for the Archduke, and
the nineteenth century was gone.
Theresienstadt for thee!
Consumption leaves its scores;
“Our shadows will be walking Wien,
Strolling the courts, frightening lords!”
Gavrilo! Gavrilo!
The masses chant his name;
he wonders at their temp’rament,
his head against the windowpane.
Gavrilo, Gavrilo!
The masses hurl their jeers;
he aimed and fired, in single shots,
the next one hundred bloody years.
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