Find me a heavenly ground!
My spirit is forsaken, with the stricken of what is to come, while I alone, am merely,
The Watchman.
There are many of my kind.
I hide,
In your delight so;
The reminder of the sweet things I may have today, and tomorrow,
But likely there will be a time, those things will come to pass.
Maybe even, I may live long enough, to see their return.
I stay hidden,
In the fine essence of the meadows,
Where my soul will always know life once more.
Around the Nazi Camps arise,
But I will forever sing the songs of my people, in my heart, as I go on.
We wash.
And wash over...
And I come to somehow once more.
I am lying on the floor
Unstricken with blows.
There is sanity,
And safety,
In you here, Dear.
In you here, Deer.
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