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The cold winds
Cut our cadaveric bodies
The spotlights up in the sky
Partially dissipates the darkness
Decrepit men are on the line
Barbed wire around us
The smell of death in the air
I'm ready to gas bath

My face reflects hopelessness
My flesh's incrusted in my bones
No hair in my body no more teeth in my mouth
let the cyanide touch the air

Going through this gas chamber
Walking toward zyklon
A holy fog of cyanide
Embrace my body and soul

Salvation through Zyklon-B

The process of dehumanization
Will soon start to run
The asphyxiation carries me
In a voyage of pure ecstasy

My corpse rots in the gas chamber
My soul flows with zyklon
Finally I see heaven
A mass grave covered with mud

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