Paging Dr. Mengele
Auschwitz in the summertime
Swimming naked in the Rhine
Dry off with a swastika
Strong dark beer and cyanide
Deutschland, Deutschland, über alles
Has it really come to this?
Blitzkrieged in the name of love
Gestapoed when push comes to shove
Sylvia Plath revisited
Blond hair, blue eyes, native tongue
Propaganda’s processed and flung
To all corners of your empire
And while paging Dr. Mengele for morphine
I become aware of the pun:
“The achievement of one’s goals is circumstantial --
It’s the quest for them that’s so much fun”
Thirty-nine to forty-five
Our parents were barely alive
So why should we relate so well?
Panzers over Poland’s terrain
I surrender; where is my brain?
Won’t you even let me think
About the peace we used to know
Before you broke the Treaty of Versailles?
Other scapegoats get reprieves, so tell me
Why oh why oh why oh why can’t I?
The Luftwaffe is taking flight
I may not survive the night
In desperation, I wonder:
Exactly what’s the Motherland?
An iron fist or hurting hand?
Or just a domineering thumb?
Russia will not be the same
Britain’s learned the meaning of maim
Can hope spring from such distress?
The Battle of the Bulge has begun
And me left here without a gun
I feel that the end is nigh...
And while paging Dr. Mengele . . .
© 1989 John Brocato
Swimming naked in the Rhine
Dry off with a swastika
Strong dark beer and cyanide
Deutschland, Deutschland, über alles
Has it really come to this?
Blitzkrieged in the name of love
Gestapoed when push comes to shove
Sylvia Plath revisited
Blond hair, blue eyes, native tongue
Propaganda’s processed and flung
To all corners of your empire
And while paging Dr. Mengele for morphine
I become aware of the pun:
“The achievement of one’s goals is circumstantial --
It’s the quest for them that’s so much fun”
Thirty-nine to forty-five
Our parents were barely alive
So why should we relate so well?
Panzers over Poland’s terrain
I surrender; where is my brain?
Won’t you even let me think
About the peace we used to know
Before you broke the Treaty of Versailles?
Other scapegoats get reprieves, so tell me
Why oh why oh why oh why can’t I?
The Luftwaffe is taking flight
I may not survive the night
In desperation, I wonder:
Exactly what’s the Motherland?
An iron fist or hurting hand?
Or just a domineering thumb?
Russia will not be the same
Britain’s learned the meaning of maim
Can hope spring from such distress?
The Battle of the Bulge has begun
And me left here without a gun
I feel that the end is nigh...
And while paging Dr. Mengele . . .
© 1989 John Brocato