Heinrich Heine and the Death of God

The Silesian Weavers Heinrich Heine In gloomy eyes there wells no tear. Grinding their teeth, they are sitting here: Germany, your shroud's on our loom; And in it we weave the threefold doom. We weave; we weave. Doomed be the God who was deaf to our prayer In Winter's cold and hunger's despair. All in vain we hoped and bided; He only mocked us, hoaxed, derided. We weave; we weave. Doomed be the…