Nothing but blood, Shot in the face, the guts and the neck
Nothing but blood, shot in the back, the skull and the throat.
Einsatzgruppen A Einsatzgruppen B
Einsatzgruppen C Einsatzgruppen D
The clay is alive with wounds open wide, No funeral bells of last farewells
Stacked like logs, then to be shot, Mothers and sons, let it be done
Buried alive in s*** and p***, Waffen SS, drunk on blood.
Iron crosses and yellow stars, The walking dead in Babi Yar
Einsatzgruppen A Einsatzgruppen B
Einsatzgruppen C Einsatzgruppen D
Nothing but blood, Shot in the face, the guts and the neck
Nothing but blood, shot in the back, the skull and the throat.
Einsatzgruppen A Einsatzgruppen B
Einsatzgruppen C Einsatzgruppen D
We have become the wind bewailed cries, A hallow voice of direful sighs
Spiralling into the frozen gaze, Of deathly faceless souls entwined
Worms writhe in a shapeless tomb, in human gore imbued
Files bewinged aloft do soar, In twisting sulphurous hue.
If the oceans were filled with ink and all the forests and trees were pens,
And even then it would not be possible to record the horrors here.
This hell can exist, as long as no one see's....
Nothing but blood, shot in the back, the skull and the throat.
Einsatzgruppen A Einsatzgruppen B
Einsatzgruppen C Einsatzgruppen D
The clay is alive with wounds open wide, No funeral bells of last farewells
Stacked like logs, then to be shot, Mothers and sons, let it be done
Buried alive in s*** and p***, Waffen SS, drunk on blood.
Iron crosses and yellow stars, The walking dead in Babi Yar
Einsatzgruppen A Einsatzgruppen B
Einsatzgruppen C Einsatzgruppen D
Nothing but blood, Shot in the face, the guts and the neck
Nothing but blood, shot in the back, the skull and the throat.
Einsatzgruppen A Einsatzgruppen B
Einsatzgruppen C Einsatzgruppen D
We have become the wind bewailed cries, A hallow voice of direful sighs
Spiralling into the frozen gaze, Of deathly faceless souls entwined
Worms writhe in a shapeless tomb, in human gore imbued
Files bewinged aloft do soar, In twisting sulphurous hue.
If the oceans were filled with ink and all the forests and trees were pens,
And even then it would not be possible to record the horrors here.
This hell can exist, as long as no one see's....