Attila Jozsef | April 11, 1905 – December 3, 1937
With A Pure Heart
Fatherless and motherless,
godless and countryless,
I’m without a crib or coffin,
without a lover to possess.
For the third day I have gone
without a meal of any kind.
My twenty years are worth a soup,
it’s a buyer I must find.
If no one else will purchase them,
I’ll accept the devil’s bid.
With a pure heart I will break in,
or even do a hired hit.
So what if I get caught and hanged,
Buried under blessed dirt;
from my pure and gorgeous heart
poisonous grass will surely spurt.