The scent of death is on the wind
Burning corpses in the ovens
None can mistake what is there
A malignant travesty faire
Some will say nothing happened
Others say it is a lie while laughing
The black crows who hunt the Jews
Never miss a chance to separate and choose
Gentile from Jew to satisfy the leaders
And occupy the butcher and cleaver
Shots fired in Babi Yar ravine
More fodder for the death machine
The world has become mute
To the tragedy
As the Einsatzgruppen shoots
The last Jew of Vinnitsa
