This is a nightmare fueled by a man and his tools,
So sick and so twisted,
The bringer of ghouls.
The angel of death and the master of macabre,
Having no shred of belonging,
In a normally helpful job.
In Mengele's eyes, you see, twins were to be adored,
But one pair was not enough,
He wanted them in hordes!
And so he picked out the best and most intriguing he saw,
And they followed impassive,
Knowing the penalties of his law.
To their deaths they would trudge, but in his heart he would sing,
"So many test subjects,
What a glorious thing!"
Some would be bled and others would be sewn,
But he'd keep up his smile,
His resolve set in stone.
He'd take thousands of pictures and of all different spots,
Stripping them stark naked
Without a second thought.
These twins stood in shame, no dignity in the cold,
With no discretion either,
Neither for children or the old.
For days they lay broken, battered and bleeding,
And for days they sobbed longingly,
helpless and pleading,
But Joseph never broke, and things never grew mundane,
I think he even found a joy
In never using Novacain.
The worst was finally over, and they soon accepted the end.
After the hell they faced alive, death must have looked like a friend.
The Chloroform sank in slowly, and they would bleed their last tears.
And this same horrendous cycle was allowed to carry on for years.