I heard he cried like a baby he shot that wept for a gypsy breast hungering to feed him. Eichmann left many echoes one from a bedroom in Vienna Jew flesh softly stamped his chest making love - his hand strokes like signatures on transportation papers. Eichmann left other echoes, stamp after stamp pressed by numbers making hate - 29881 travelled to Sobibor left as dry grey rain his name was Petrov Ziebinski. Before the Judas rope Eichmann’s last supper was red wine last words "long live Argentina", "long live Germany", "long live Austria". Eichmann’s last echo was his neck. His eyes two silver coins, cost of the Fatherland spent by Jew fists hurling ash on Mediterranean skin, a sea that never rests. "Long live mediterannean".