Black polished leather
A field grey cut of woolen cloth.
Three gold oak leaves
Pinned to a silver piped collar,
The glance of a piercing blue eye...
Have I been detected?
Red, white and black
The double crossed sig rune…
Thrust in our faces
Like Mother's bratwurst
Stinks of cooked flesh
Concealed violence
They came from the east,
And were soon everywhere
Becoming our masters
But night brings day
And the day brings blood
Now greed has given birth to murder
Day to night
Black to white
Those of us who seek the middle ground
Have been divided by the sword
Into those that hide in the shadows
And those that lie in the rubble
But the faces down here are all the same
No races, only faces
Dirty, saddened faces
Faces streaked from guilt to sorrow
Faces famished for once known comfort
Faces petrified from death
Tonight the bombers will come
And the sky will be filled with explosion
We'll rendezvous at the predetermined checkpoint
Then sneak across the border
And there we will throw ourselves
At the mercy of another God.
