Crosses on the concentration camps
Who puts crosses up in concentration camps,
Rattling the bones of the Jewish dead?
Good Christians putting their stamp
On the ghosts of souls they have never met.
Nun rub magic beads over the ashy ruins
Where civilization had its finest hour
Like Shakespeare’s witches predicting doom
Upon people graced with God’s golden shower.
Whose bloody hands do we willingly shake?
Whose rotting heart do we so admire?
In whose oven does our bread bake?
How hot must we make the fire?
Doing nothing for years I only looked
Ignoring the cries I knew must be pain
I pretended that I never understood,
Then cried as loud when my turn came.
How inhumane we humans can sometimes be,
Casting stones at the weak and most needy,
We who are special and criminally free,
Force our brothers to believe what we believe.
Who put the crosses on concentration camps?
We do, and we hang people on them, too.