The hardwood, oh how cold it is,
On my frail , aching back.
Denial of the simplest things,
A perpetual state of attack.
The damning screams of Germany,
Sees the end of so many lives,
From France to Luthuania,
The war machine arrives.
Enough can't be enough,
For the man who wants it all.
The clueless blue eyes of Bavaria,
They all heed the false call.
The Gates of Hell swing open,
Admitting old and young;
'A dead Jew is not a working Jew,'
The taste of cold metal on my tounge.
The smell of blood and iron,
Mixed with intoxication,
Oh how damp,
'The child is no use to us,'
So he's sent to seperate camp.
The last thing I remember,
As I stood above that pit,
The crying of old ladies,
As they finally cease all belief and quit;
Is the whispers of my father,
As he said 'you'll get them back,'
The crack of bullets tear the calm,
As he drops atop me like a sack.
Preying in simple disbelief,
I sooth my beating heart,
As I realize I'll get revenge,
And this is but the start.
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