They came for the communists,
and I did not speak up
because I wasn’t a communist;

They came for the socialists,
and I did not speak up
because I was not a socialist;

They came for the union leaders,
and I did not speak up
because I wasn’t a union leader;

They came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak up
because I wasn’t a Jew.

Then they came for me,
and there was no one
left to speak up for me ….

We played, we laughed
we were loved.
We were ripped from the arms of our
parents and thrown into the fire.
We were nothing more than children.
We had a future.
We were going to be doctors, lawyers,
rabbis, wives, teachers, mothers.
We had dreams, then we had no hope.
We were taken away in the dead of night
like cattle in cars, no air to breathe smothering,
crying, starving, dying.
Separated from the world to be no more.
From the ashes, hear our plea.
This atrocity to mankind can not happen again.
Remember us, for we were the children
whose dreams and lives were stolen away.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds – and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

It’s easy to be nice, boys
When everything’s O.K.
It’s easy to be cheerful,
When your having things your way.
But can you hold your head up
And take it on the chin.
When your heart is breaking
And you feel like giving in?

It was easy back in England,
Among the friends and folks.
But now you miss the friendly hand,
The joys, and songs, and jokes.
The road ahead is stormy.
And unless you’re strong in mind,
You’ll find it isn’t long before
You’re dragging far behind.

You’ve got to climb the hill, boys;
It’s no use turning back.
There’s only one way home, boys,
And it’s off the beaten track.
Remember you’re American,
And when you reach the crest,
You’ll see a valley cool and green,
Our country at its best.

You know there is a saying
That sunshine follows rain,
And sure enough you’ll realize
That joy will follow pain.
Let courage be your password,
Make fortitude your guide;
And then instead of grousing,
Just remember those who died.

When the Battle Cry is spoken,
And the Voice of War is heard,
The soldiers of the Allies,
To battlefields do move.

The enemy is silent,
As if waiting for the sun,
Then they hear that awesome sound,
The booming of the Guns.

They shudder in their trenches
Within a gnawing fear,
Of knowing the Battery
Of 1-6-1 is here.

The shells come whilstling all around,
And wreck and break and knock things down,
Creating havoc among the lines
And all that it surrounds.

The enemy has broken
In torn and tired dismay,
Those so inclined
Get down on knees and pray.

The Allies are victorious,
The enemy is on the run,
Once again they have been beaten
By the Glory of the Guns.

When the tale is told in text books
Of the battle in the west,
Where the desert meets a desert
And the pasture ain’t the best.
When the story’s set and stated,
Written down in black and white
For the up and coming soldier
To peruse from left to right.
When the printed pulp is published,
Page on page of lettered lines,
And its dispositioned forces
And its places, points and times.
When the book is there before us,
Full of tactical defeats,
And technical advantages
And strategical retreats.
When the past is put on paper,
Telling why and when and where,
It’ll curb the curiosity
Of the thousands that were there.
For the folks that fought this warfare,
On the home front or at the base,
Can peruse their penny papers
And see such and such took place,
But the bloke amidst the battle
Sees his own small, sticky sphere,
And hasn’t heard what happened
Further forward or down rear.
He doesn’t know the northern news,
The southern state’s the same,
And he hopes to hell that convoy
Coming closer turns out tame.
So when those books see daylight
And meet him face to face,
He can pick ’em up and so find out
What actually took place.