A crimson winter:
Nanking burning,
A young man trampling
Her sons and daughters, just two
Of a hundred thousand tabi sandals.

His rifle cracked the air,
His mortars blew apart homes,
And his bayonet steamed from
The blood of a thousand and one
Old men, baby girls and their mothers.

On the young man came:
Rounding up defenders,
Carving up bystanders,
Abused from the top down,
He vented his malice.

The women were no more than hogs,
And the men much less, and
For seven weeks the young man
Wreaked a foul havoc in the streets,
Driving over mounds of decayed...