An officer stands in front of us He's a doctor
He's wearing a white coat I can see his uniform
He's wearing the Death's Head He's in the SS
One by one he calls us We step forward
His voice is calm He asks our age?
He examines our hands He asks for 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
"Lawyer" "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"