BEING A JEW IN 1942

Three men in uniform were having a smoke
Pulled and prodded me until I awoke
Bundled outdoors into a crowded waiting truck
Nothing I could do would change my bad luck

I heard the truck stop outside a well lit gate
Myself and others waited for our impending fate
Soon I was quickly taken to who knows where 
The three men in uniform didn't bother or care

This was a typical night in the year of 1942
The only crime was being born a Jew
A man in a moustache despised my race
A sick individual with an ugly looking face

Three long years and it was finally 1945
Don't know how but thank God I was still alive
The memories though remain to this day 
Panic attacks and nightmares keep sleep at bay