The Eternal Nigger

Surrender
it just doesn't matter
how many bricks
you throw through windows
or how many white women
you rape
it doesn't matter
how mad you get
because they didn't want
to date
it doesn't matter
how many Jew media
lies you think are real
or how the nigger
word makes you feel
no consequence how
many rocks
you smoke
it doesn't matter
how offended you are
because you know
you're just a joke
it doesn't matter
how many rap stars
the Jews create
or how many sports
heroes get made
as the darkness
descends you'll
know that you're
just a creepier type
of slave
and when the night comes
on
and as you wither
into sleep
the darkness
that comes
is the darkness
that you keep

Karl Marx's Fantasy of Destroying the White Race

In "The Pale Maiden", Karl Marx has an erotic fantasy about the destruction of the superior white race.

In a poem where you can feel his circumsized, pedophilic rabbi quiver in every line, he waxes rhapsodic over the corruption and spiritual destruction of a "lily white" maiden by a blood-crazed knight.

 Interestingly, the white genocide orchestrated by the Jews is encapsulated in this poem. So, it's worth reading, if you care that the white race is being destroyed.

 Also, it's worth noting that without spiritual strength, you have no chance of survival. Because the Jew is the material manifestation of evil, and only good can conquer evil.

 To quote a Rabbi I recently argued with: "Your precious racial superiority is doomed! We shall erase you from the Book of the Tree of Life! Death! Death! No one who is on to our evil plans shall be acknowledged!"

 The Rabbi then demanded reparations.

Early Works of Karl Marx: Book of Verse

The Pale Maiden

A Ballad

The maiden stands so pale,
So silent, withdrawn,
Her sweet angelic soul
Is misery-torn.

Therein can shine no ray,
The waves tumble over;
There, love and pain both play,
Each cheating the other.

Gentle was she, demure,
Devoted to Heaven,
An image ever pure
The Graces had woven.

Then came a noble knight,
A grand charger he rode;
And in his eyes so bright
A sea of love flowed.

Love smote deep in her breast,
But he galloped away,
For battle-triumph athirst;
Naught made him stay.

All peace of mind is flown,
The Heavens have sunk.
The heart, now sorrow's throne,
Is yearning-drunk.

And when the day is past,
She kneels on the floor,
Before the holy Christ
A-praying once more.

But then upon that form
Another encroaches,
To take her heart by storm,
'Gainst her self reproaches.

"To me your love is given
For Time unending.
To show your soul to Heaven
Is merely pretending."

She trembles in her terror
Icy and stark,
She rushes out in horror,
Into the dark.

She wrings her lily-white hands,
The tear-drops start.
"Thus fire the bosom brands
And longing, the heart.

"Thus Heaven I've forfeited,
    I know it full well.
    My soul, once true to God,
    Is chosen for Hell.

He was so tall, alas,
Of stature divine.
His eyes so fathomless,
So noble, so fine.

"He never bestowed on me
His glances at all;
Lets me pine hopelessly
    Till the end of the Soul.

"Another his arm may press,
May share his pleasure;
Unwitting, he gives me distress
Beyond all measure.

"With my soul willingly,
With my hopes I'd part,
Would he but look towards me
And open his heart.

"How cold must the Heavens be
Where he doesn't shine,
A land full of misery
    And burning with pain.

"But here the surging flood
May deliver me, cooling
The hot fire of heart's blood,
The bosom's feeling."

She leaps with all her might
Into the spray.
Into the cold dark night
She's carried away.

Her heart, that burning brand,
Is quenched forever;
Her look, that luminous land,
Is clouded over.

Her lips, so sweet and tender,
Are pale and colourless;
Her form, aethereal, slender,
Drifts into nothingness.

And not a withered leaf
Falls from the bough;
Heaven and Earth are deaf,
Won't wake her now.

By mountain, valley, on
The quiet waves race,
To dash her skeleton
On a rocky place.

The Knight so tall and proud
Embraces his new love,
The cithern sings about
The joys of True Love!

Tolerance of the Third Kind

If I'm going to be tolerant
with love in my mind
should I not first
learn to tolerate my own kind?

If I'm going to targeted
as the cause of all strife
the cause being being born white,
why can I not ask,
on fear of my life,
what makes your birth
exclude you from a history
of exploitation and guilt,
how was it these things
were not sewn into that quilt?

If I can find the hand
paying these messages to be writ
into the minds of those
who now deem themselves unfit,
and demand my conformity
under threat of a label
that defies logic and proof
or paints me into the corner
of some raving goof,
while the TV reinforces
their faith in the lies
five hours a day
and makes them their saviors
despise.

Where is the place
they can remember their past
without a scaffold black,
or in a noose, or a trail of crying
red skin, or six million Jews,
but no mention ever of Bolshevik
crimes and how racial
the nature of those communist times.