Hannah is dreaming she's young once againIn a railroad carOne hundred peopleGypsies, queers, and David's starsThis Train is bound for glory.She stands with her brotherWith thousands of menThe sign says “Treblinka”She can't Breath again.They say she's a Jew as though being born were a sin.Her head has been shavenBy a black uniformthere is no where to hideShe touches the number Tattooed on her wrist. War's a wicked bird that never comes to restfeeding on the dreams of all the children.The war she saw lives inside her still.It sucks her into the jaws of angerIt's so hard to be gentle and warm.Hannah is watching her grandchildren playShe hears the bells ringingIn a town far away.
Hannah is standing Outside the gatesThe sign says Treblinka Her eyes fill with fear. Hannah is wondering if she'll ever leave here. Her head has been shave, By a black uniformShe closes her eyes and wishes for hope.She opens them up and cries alone.
I can hear my heart, pounding like a clock.I reach out my hand, touching death itself.A dancer with no legs.My head has been shavenby a black uniform.I reach out my hand, touching death itself.A healer with no hands.I touch the numberTattooed on my wrist.I reach out my hand, touching death itself.A runner who has no feet.Six hundred soulsin the doors of the chambers.There is no one left who can protect me.Now, can you open up your eyes and give us peace.
Some of Gods children You are unkindWars a wicked bird that never comes to restThe beast he threatens“You won't survive!”For all of Gods children Stacked like woodHere is potential gone for goodYou say he's a faggotAre you afraid your the sameFor all of Gods children Tears on her pillowEscaped through the wire.
When footsteps from that Sunday march faded out into the dark kiss my wife and kids goodbye choke back the quiver in my breath here is a teacher with no face and dancer with no legs you say i'm good enough to play, but not good enough to stay I will gladly pick your peaches or clean your hotel room.
Cover our eyes with clear blue skies,Her head has been shaven,She touches the number tattooed on her wrist,“You won't survive”Blood in all the streets, running like a flood,So open up your morning light, and say a little prayer for I,This one's for the Godfather, Duke, Ella, and the Count,We are the children of poverty trying to make a stand,Vanish just like smoke in autumn wind,When footsteps from that Sunday march faded out into the dark,No coloreds allowed unless you're playing in the show,We are the children of poverty trying to make a stand,Vanish just like smoke in autumn wind.
For our lives to be overIn an Unknown Gravewill it be yes or will it be nosix hundred souls in the doors of the chambersthey are gods childrenwaiting in vainfor that never ending painthese are the first steps into the corridor of deathwhen the door closesthere is no moreIn the garden of white crossesthere is the end of potential good
Natashia Fraser-Wordell03-10-10Ms. BancroftEnglishPeriod 5Do you belong to the human race?You cover our eyes with clear blue skiesWhere all of God's childrenAgain would be freePeople say “You won't survive.”She raises her fist and whispers.“I am going to live!”“You are tall and strong I am just a child”She says to a man in a black uniformReaching out her hand, she touches death itselfShe's an ugly girl, does that make you feel safe?Hannah is dreamingShe's one of God's childrenSix hundred soulsThere's one door of hopeShe hears the bells ringingFor all of God's childrenWho died for this dayThere is no more love and no more longingWhen she closes her eyes she dreams of peace
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