An officer stands in front of us He is a doctor
He is wearing a white coat I can see his uniform
He is in the SS He wears the Death's Head
One by one we step forward
His voice is calm He asks our age?
He examines our hands He asks our occupation?
Panel beater To the right
Labourer To the left
Salesman To the right
Farm worker To the right
Accounts clerk To the right
Carpenter To the left
It's my father's turn He replies with confidence.
Lawer To the right
He's fifty-five That could be the reason
Now its my turn I'm twenty-three
Construction worker The doctor takes my hands
How wonderful the calluses are To the left