I see the destruction of the cities left behind
I hear the cheers of the brainwashed overcome by the silence of the condemned
the smell of terror all around me
with the feeling that suddenly I am home, but not home anymore
will they come for me next?
I am too young to die


I see the barbed wire fence intruding out of the distance
I hear the gate click behind me, and know I am trapped
the stench of burning bodies cling to my clothes
knowing that the activities I had taken for granted were now a complete fantasy
why do they blame all their troubles on me?
I am too young to die


I see the skeletal faces of the alive but not living
I hear the crunching of frozen feet on the rock strewn ground
the smell of fresh snow all around
knowing that every step was either liberation, or doom
why should I take another step?
I am too young to die


I see the white star of liberation painted on the truck
with the ring of freedom pounded into my head
while reek of rotting bodies are around me
the feeling that maybe my dreams were not so much a fantasy
but why did I continue to dream?
because I am too young to die