"Liebe Italia,

I am holding zis pen,
but I don't even know how to begin.
Ze shells fly so dense, they block out ze sky.
Everywhere around me I hear men shout and cry.
Gut German men killed by some English guy,
and I think, Meine Liebe, it is my time to die.

In ze Ardennes I was shot twice already,
my bag and my Mauser have become so heavy.
Meine feet - black and frozen from weeks in ze mud,
and my head feels so light because I am losing blood.

I was captured by Frenchmen by the Somme a while ago,
they punched me, kicked me, threw me to freeze in the snow.
They took my Mauser, ammo, food, everything part by part -
but they couldn't take you. You are in my heart.

Remember Weinachten? I woke with you in my bed,
but I couldn't help loving ze brown mess on your head.
Remember ze picnic in Florence? Lying in ze grass,
you smiled, gazed at me, and then grabbed my... well.
I should have loved you, ja. I am full of regret.
But ze memories? Nein, I shall never forget.

All I have left is your photograph in ze tin locket that fits snugly by my heart, in my chest pocket.
When ze French stabbed me and threw me on the ground,
I lost ze locket and before it was found ze frog-eating schweine started to scream:
"Putain, un pédé!" - and kicked knee upon knee.

I haven't eaten in days but I still strongly remember your pasta, cooking über feuer, while I poked at ze embers.
I thank Gott to this day that upon hearing frantic knocks I decided to open ze wooden tomato box.
Inside it I found ze best thing in my life -
it was you, Italia. Unarmed. Not even a knife.

I didn't love you. I thought you were a weak kleine bean,
and at ze same time, ze most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I wanted to touch you, to kiss you, as I still do right now.
Italia - I miss you. You don't even know how.

Why am I not in Münich, reading unter eine buche?
Or watching over you while you bake in meine küche?
Why was I sucked into this maelstrom, this swirl,
this war, that keeps me far from your fabulous curls?

Italia, I really can't find much more to say.
I used to think, "Surely, I will marry him one day."
You are the one only thing that I need to live. Well. Except oxygen. And wasser. But please forgive
me, Meine Liebe. For it has come to be my time to die and I have not had ze chance to say my last goodbye.

I can barely see, all I do is cough, there's blood everywhere,
but please, Italia -"

And there the letter cuts off.