Taking for ride of one-hundred twenty

covered in the foul stench of

unclean viruses to the human society

Subject to the hands

of the Almighty Führer

Pushed out by the guns of his legion

Stuffed in to a compacted space

driven to a place unknown

On arrival facing the base of the stairways

filled with the fear of mounting

Slowly the line moved and

slowly you got closer

and slowly you await your time of judgment

You feel the cold breath of death

creeping down your spine

Left he yells, a path straight to the gases of Hell

Right he yells, a path straight to working paradise

Waiting to face the wrath of the tyrant god,

the sovereign of your time of judgment

One after another, an innocent soul faces fate

I step up to the barbed gates and wait my judgment

Left.