Am I made of the yellow wool
that's been sewn onto my soul?
But it was already there.
It was already there.
Like everyone, I wore my face,
I prayed my god, I walked my race.
But could I, for a moment, pause,
turn around, escape these jaws?
Nein.
I saw and counted past,
but faster hearts beat still.
The tolling clock of life
upon Death's window sill
did strike
and strike
again.
It's death to those who walk here,
and worse for those who run.
For it is worse to never grow;
to wear the noose and never know.
So now, dear reader, turn away
forget-a time, sleep deep:
Secretly, did not you want
to not-see Germany?
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