Mark Yakich - Leni Riefenstahl lyrics

Abhorred. O she was. And how she lived for More than a century. A darling really Except for her love of the camera. A woman No one ever saw crying. Recall how much Of her there was to go around. Filming The crowd. How wanted she was. They said She'd slept with Hitler. The grandstands. They said she'd slept with Morris, too, The American who won the decathlon And later played Tarzan in the movies; he Ripped open her blouse and kissed her Breast before 100,000 people. The crowd. The film. No one dying. Imagine, Hitler's Voice lived inside her head for 70 years. The sound of the crowd. An old typewriter Surfacing. There was no cliff she couldn't Jump from. And survive. And later no sea That was not her scene. The crowd. No One else got off like she did. The film. To her Jesse Owens was merely four Gold medals. A few camera flashes. Seconds. The lathe of the turnstile. The reels And reels of celluloid she sent to Hamburg. She only met Owens that once. Not Wonderful. Not at all. They spent half An hour debating. She predicted he'd go Back home and race against horses. And So he did. She admonished him not To piss off the Führer. The film of his Torch. And so what if Owens replaced That Jewish sprinter in the 400-meter relay; Owens was supposed to be the man who Stood in for all minorities, everywhere. The torch. The camera. The crowd. Leni Admonished him. And now I you: Take this book. Finger its edges. Flip Its pages like the frames of a film. Her torch. Her sea. Rip apart the binding like that Delicate blouse she kept in a safe. Prepare For the prejudice of your own dreams. That frail body of hers. That furor. That film. That crowd should have been crying.