We are marching away,
All through the snow,
In chained in captivity,
With sad hearts we go.
We didn't sign up,
For this senseless old war,
We don't want to struggle,
And fight any more.
They won't let us talk,
Nor sing marching songs,
We're treated as criminals,
Who've done terrible wrong.
The sick, lame, and injured,
They fall by the way,
For our dying and our dead,
They won't let us pray.
They stop for some warm food,
But we're left without,
Never heard of Geneva,
Of that there's no doubt.
After four days we arrive,
By a dark brooding gate,
In sheer terror we march on,
Much fearing our fate.
We are made to stand still,
In the cold and the wet,
Should anyone dare move,
It's a beating we'll get.
They called us sick animals,
Not fit for this earth,
Amid slow creeping terror,
Our lives have scant worth.
Our mind, souls and bodies,
Now belong to them,
Our eventual fate;
Who knows the where, and the when.
To a large black building,
Our chained leaders are led,
One by one, guards return,
Each one carries a head.
The sheer terror it surges,
Fear panics the throng,
What on earth are they planning.
What have we done so wrong?
Lives no longer ours,
We sag and we groan,
Then we all realise,
We're not going back home.
The panic, the terror,
With the fear and the dread,
And numbly accept,
We're already dead.
Into that dark building,
We are led one by one,
Knowing at once,
We have seen our last sun.
Each man alone,
Our eyes barely meet,
Eventually we pay,
The high price of defeat.
Some are now praying,
Down deep inside,
The evil truths clear,
This is now genocide.
