The Jewish wife
Inspired by a scene from Brecht’s Furcht und Elend des Dritten Reiches
(The Fear and Misery of the Third Reich)
God knows he was no ideologue,
And she went but rarely to the synagogue.
As a scientist he had no time for politics,
Said: Life goes on despite all their dirty tricks.
But still she’s packing, and as she packs,
Leaving behind everything she lacks,
In her heart her farewell speech she composes,
Trying to remember what she knew of the Law of Moses.
Well, let it be, each life must take its course.
Let’s hope it’s temporary; nothing like divorce.
She’s not concerned about what their friends might think.
One thing’s certain: she will take the mink!
(GRAMS: Comedie Harmonists: Wochenend’ Und Sonnenschein – Weekend and Sunshine)
(NOTE: The Comedie Harminists were a popular Jewish close-harmony group in Germany in the pre-Hitler period. This song is better known in English as Happy Days Are Here Again.)
God, how I hate packing! What shall I take? What shall I leave? How long will I be away? Will I need summer clothes or will I be back before warmer weather comes?
And how much longer will this madness continue? I said to Fritz we should have voted but he wouldn’t agree. But who could we vote for? Not the Reds, surely.
Now look what’s happening. The Führer hates us and his word is law. And that IS the law.
(Returns to her packing)
Don’t think I’ll need these silk undies. Who am I going to be seducing in Amsterdam? Who do I even know there?
Wait a minute! What day is this? Tuesday? Isn’t that the doctor’s bridge night? God, I’ll have to ring and cancel. I don’t expect Fritz will go without me. He’s not all that keen on bridge, I know.
(FX: Telephone dial)
Hello. Judith Keith here. Is that you, doctor? Good evening.
Yes, quite well, thank you.
Fritz? Well he’s not home yet but he’s had a bit of a cold lately. Yes, that’s why he didn’t make it to our last rubber.
No, nothing serious, thanks for asking.
Well, why I’m ringing is . . .
You know, I’m sorry to drop you in it at the last minute like this, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it for bridge tonight. I don’t know if Fritz will be coming, cos I usually do the driving. Perhaps one of your friends could give him a lift.
Why? Because I’m going away. Tonight, on the 9pm train.
No, not long. Probably just for a few weeks. At least I hope so.
I’m going to Amsterdam. Yes, they do say it’s lovely there in the spring. The tulips may be out. And I’ve got friends there.
I hope you don’t think I’m letting you down. I’m sure you’ll be able to get someone else for a fourth.
Oh come on! You know we haven’t played for a fortnight.
That’s right, Fritz had a cold then, too. He’s a bit susceptible in the cold weather.
Frankly, I think it’s absurd to go on playing bridge when it’s as cold as this, I always say. Stay home in the warm.
So, what put that idea into my head, going away? W-e-l-l, hard to say really. Nothing specific.
No, nothing to do with Fritz and me. We’re fine, really we are. Of course, we have our ups and downs, like most couples. And he’s under a lot of pressure at work.
Yes, you’re right. He always did bring his work home with him, nights. But I knew he was like that when we started courting. And we’ve been together long enough . . .
A bit sudden? No, not really. It’s been on my mind for weeks. Ever since the election. I kept putting it off, and now I’ve really got to . . .
Oh yes, right. We’ll also have to cancel our cinema date, won’t we?
Remember me to Thekla. And keep in touch with Fritz, if you would. Ring him up sometimes, could you perhaps? And see if you can persuade him to come on his own for bridge.
Well, au revoir.
Yes, of course I will. When I get back. Goodbye.
(She puts down the phone.
IF I get back!
(She hangs up and calls another number.)
(FX: Telephone dial.)
Hello, Frau Schmidt? Frau Keith here. This is something of an official call, from us to you as our landlady. I know you have to keep in touch with the authorities about our comings and goings.
No, that’s OK, really it is. We all have to do what we must, which is why I’m going away.
Yes, on the nine o’clock train. To Amsterdam.
The Herr Doktor Keith will be staying. He has his work at the clinic . . .
Yes, well, it may only be for a short time, so perhaps you won’t need . . .
Yes? Well fine. You will do what you must, as I say, even though I may be away for only a short time. The Herr Doktor will keep you informed, so you can fulfil your responsibilities.
Yes, as so must we. Auf wiedersehen, Frau Schmidt.
(GRAMS: Host Wessel Lied – distant.)
I hate that bloody song!
(FX: Breaking glass, running feet.)
Good God, what the hell was that? I hope Fritz gets home soon. I don’t feel safe . . .
I must get on.
(FX: Telephone dial.)
Hello, this is Judith Keith. Can I speak to Frau Schoeck, please?
Lotte? I’m ringing up to say Auf wiedersehn. I’m going away for a bit. Catching a train for Amsterdam tonight, nine.
No, nothing’s wrong, we’re both fine. I just feel I need some kind of a change of scene. And Fritz has got some issues at work. I just felt he needed some space to work things out.
And that’s why I’m calling, really.
The point is that Fritz has got the Professor coming here tomorrow evening, and I was wondering if you could both come too. Give him a bit of moral support, as it were.
No, I won’t be here. I’m off tonight as I said. Yes, tomorrow night, that’s it.
I’ve asked the cook to come in, even though it’s her night off. Schnitzel, I think. It’s Fritz’s favourite.
Oh Max, too. That’s good.
Well, that’s it, really. I only just wanted to tell you I’ll be off tonight.
No, it’s nothing to do with that. You know we’re totally non-political. Didn’t even vote in March.
But people are giving him a bit of a hard time at work, so we invited the Prof over to try and get it sorted.
Well, since you might say, I’m part of the problem. As I’m, you know . . .
Yes, that’s right.
Well it’s sweet of you to put it that way, and I’m sure you’ll always be our friends. That’s why I’m hoping you can come over tomorrow.
Yes, I know you’re not that sort, but what about it, these are unsettled times and everybody’s being so careful, so you’ll come?
Well, let’s say even though I shan’t be here, right?
Max? I’m sure he’ll manage it, you know the way he is. The Professor will be there, tell him.
Well, I must ring off now. Goodbye, then. Love to you all. Schuss sweetie.
(She hangs up.)
(A clock strikes seven.)
Scheitze! Is that the time? Fritz’ll be home any minute. What on earth am I going to say to him? Think, think, THINK girl!
“Fritz, liebling . . .“
No, that’s no good. He always says he doesn’t like all that sentimental stuff, canoodling in the back row at the movies, and so on. Says we’ve got to act like mature adults, not sex-starved adolescents.
“Fritz, my dear . . .”
Yes, that’ll do.
“Fritz, my dear, I know things are getting difficult for you at work. I feel that I’ve become part of the problem.”
He’ll say he doesn’t know what I’m on about, like he always does, that he never brings his work home. Well that’s true, up to a point, but he does toss and turn a lot in bed, these days. Ever since that bloody election . . .
I know he doesn’t like talking politics, but we can’t ignore what’s happening up in Berlin. That poor, crazy Dutchman! And then Herr Jacob . . .
Yes, that might be it.
“Fritz, my dear. You know the brownshirts smashed up Herr Jacob’s, the jewellers. Stole some of his stuff, apparently. He’s taking them to law, though I don’t fancy his chances.”
No, that won’t do. Why should he care about some poor Yiddisher shopkeeper? He thinks jewels and schmuck like that are ostentatious rubbish. I’ll think it through while I call one or two others.
(She dials another number.)
(FX: Telephone dial.)
Hi Gertrud. It’s Judith. I’m so sorry to disturb you.
Thanks, I love you too, dear.
I have something rather confidential to tell you. In fact, I haven’t even told Fritz yet.
The fact is, I’m leaving on a 9pm train to Amsterdam tonight.
No, not leaving HIM, silly. Well, of course, since I’ll be on the train and he’ll be here at home, I suppose you could say that I AM leaving him, technically speaking, but I’m not LEAVING him, not really.
No, not even a trial separation.
Yes, well, as you know, he’s been having a bit of a tough time at work lately, and I can’t deny it’s been affecting the both of us.
Yes, I suppose you could say it IS political, in a way, which is really ridiculous, cos neither of us at all interested in politics. We didn’t even vote last month.
Well, perhaps you’re right, we SHOULD have voted, but the only serious opposition was the Reds, of whatever flavour, and I can’t see Fritz or me hoisting the hammer-and-sickle, can you?
Anyway, I just wanted to ask if you could see that Fritz is all right, while I’m away, being his sister; I thought you . . .
No, nobody’d think that, would they? Anyway not Fritz.
Well, of course, as you know, we haven’t . . . been getting on all that well, that’s been the case for some time now but . . .
Things at his work are just making it harder for both of us. I thought if I took myself out of the picture it’d be easier for him to sort it all out. The prof’s coming for dinner tomorrow, so I hope that’ll clear the air a bit, if I’m not there to confuse things.
How long? Well until those madmen in Berlin come to their senses, so it might be a while. I can’t see it happening, can you? The insane have taken over the asylum, don’t you think?
Yes, I agree love, politics is such a bore, but when they start smashing up jewellers’ shops, stealing stuff, and getting away with it . . .
Oh, didn’t you hear? That Mr Jacob. Apparently he’s taking the SA to court, but I don’t fancy his chances, do you? His partner’s a non-Jew, actually an SA member, so that might count in his favour. They’re saying he provoked them, by shouting abuse . . .
Yes, well, you’ve got to keep your head down, that’s what I always say. They’re a law unto themselves.
Anyway, back to your big brother. Can I tell him to call you, if he needs to talk?
No, I don’t think you’ll need to come and stay. The apartment’s a bit on the large side for a man living alone, but I’m sure he will cope.
If you do come in, you’d better leave his workroom to Ida to deal with, she knows what’s to be done. I find her pretty intelligent, and he’s used to her. She knows his funny ways.
Can you please keep an eye on his suits and remind him to go to his tailor, he’s ordered a new overcoat. He’ll need it, if this cold weather doesn’t let up.
And do see that his bedroom’s properly heated, he likes sleeping with the window open and it’s too cold.
Forgive me, love, but I must ring off now.
I’m very grateful to you, Gertrud, for being so understanding.
We’ll write to each other, won’t we? Let me know how he’s getting on, so I don’t worry.
Yes, that would be wonderful.
(She hangs up.)
Now, what was I saying? Oh yes:
“Fritz, my dear, I think I ought to go away for a short while, just a couple of weeks, perhaps a month or so. Until things calm down. The prof’s coming to dinner tomorrow and I think it’ll be easier for you to sort things out if I’m not there, confusing the issue.”
I only hope he’ll understand I’m not leaving him for good. Well . . . I hope not, anyway.
(FX: Police sirens. Car skidding to a stop. Car doors banging. Running footsteps. Hammering on a door.)
Aufschließen! Polizei! Open up! Aufmachen!
God, what the hell’s happening now? Some poor sod’s going to be for it. How long before they’ll be banging on our door?
I must get on. I better call Anna.
(She calls another number.)
(FX: Telephone dial.)
Anna? It’s Judith; look, I’m just off.
No, I don’t think there’s any other way out. Things are getting difficult. Too difficult!
Well, no, it isn’t Fritz’s idea, he doesn’t know yet, I’ve simply packed my things.
How long? Well, between you and me, my dear, I might never come back. You know the way things are. You heard about poor Mr Jacob? Well, nobody’s come round, smashing our windows, not yet at least, though I just heard . . .
And there have been some alarming noises from the street. Police banging on doors. And some of our neighbours have been giving me funny looks. They used to be so friendly.
That Frau Schmidt, our landlady. She’s the worst, looks right through me. And she used to be so kind. When I lost the baby . . .
And all this hasn’t helped Fritz and me. He doesn’t talk much, but I know he’s worried sick.
Yes, we ought to have talked about it, but you know the way he is. On top he seems so calm, but underneath . . . a raging volcano. Very bourgeois. Bottles it all up.
I’m expecting him at any moment, and I’ll try to explain it to him then.
Thanks, love, there’s a dear. If you could please keep an eye on him. You and Hans are our closest friends after all.
I’d like to have come and said goodbye to you, but it’s your concierge, you know. He’s one of them, I’m sure.
So, goodbye; no, don’t come to the station, that’s not a good idea. Someone might see you.
Goodbye, I’ll write.
That’s a promise.
(She puts the phone down. It rings immediately.)
Hello? Oh it’s you, Fritz. I was wondering where you’d got to, because we need to talk.
Delayed? How long? The thing is . . .
Ten? But I’ll be gone by then. Yes, on a nine o’clock train. I’m off to Amsterdam.
But Fritz, you must let me go; you can’t keep . . .
I’ll be your downfall, it’s quite clear; I know you aren’t a coward, you’re not scared of the police, but there are worse things. They won’t put you in a camp, but if I stay they might ban you from the clinic. It could happen any day now. You don’t say much, but I know it’s making you ill.
Don’t tell me you haven’t changed; you have! Only last week you established quite objectively that the proportion of Jewish scientists wasn’t all that high. Objectivity is always the start of it, and why do you keep telling me I’ve never been such a Jewish chauvinist till now?
Of course I’m one. Chauvinism is catching. Oh, Fritz, what has happened to us?
Can we, Fritz? Can we really? Are you sure?
Perhaps you could join me. There must be a need for good clinicians there, too. Meanwhile . . .
(FX: Car horn.)
That’ll be my taxi.
Bye, my dear. I’ve asked the cook to prepare schnitzel for tomorrow night, when the prof comes. Lotte and Max are coming, so you’ll have some space to sort things out.
Oh, and can you burn my address book, with all my telephone numbers in it?
You can’t be too careful, these days, can you?
And who knows, like I say, there might be a vacancy for a clinician in Holland, and we could be together again.
If not, well . . .
(FX: car horn)
I’d better go, or I’ll miss the train. I love you.
(She puts down the phone.)
On the train
Even travelling first class
Makes you realise most things must pass.
Nothing in this life is certain
At any time fate can pull the final curtain.
The friendly guy in the opposite seat
May seem like someone you might want to meet,
Someone who deserves your trust
But all must do what everyone must.
When all is said and all is done
The only one trustworthy’s number one.
(GRAMS: Glenn Miller – Chattanooga Choo-Choo, intro)
(FX: Train station noises, slamming of train doors, train whistle, puffing of train as it leaves the station etc)
(Out of breath)
Oh thank you, that’s very kind. It’s only a small case, but it can stay up on the rack till I get to Amsterdam.
Yes, all the way. You? Well at least we can chat till you get to the border.
No, I think I’ll keep the fur with me, if you don’t mind. I don’t know if there’s any heating on this train and it’ll be midnight or later when we get to Amsterdam.
That’s assuming it runs on time, which I doubt.
Mussolini? Yes, they do say that, don’t they? But here, things are going from bad to worse, don’t you think? Seems to me the Italian fascists are more civilised than our lot. They get the trains to run on time; all I hear is the noise of breaking glass.
No, of course I’m proud to be German. Goethe, Heine, Schiller, and of course Beethoven.
Wagner? A bit rich for me, all those trolls and dragons. I wish he’d stick to subjects like Meistersinger. And his anti-Semitism makes me feel very uncomfortable. I don’t go to the opera to be insulted.
What’s my religion got to do with it? I’m not at all religious, as it happens, but whose business is it if I am a Jew or a Hottentot bush Baptist? I live my life, keep myself to myself.
My old man’s a doctor, since you ask. And no, he’s not a Jew, but being married to me is causing him some problems at work. As if my religious persuasion has anything to do with his abilities as a clinician.
VOICE OVER TANNOY:
Sie haben Ihre Pässe bereit für die Inspektion, bitte.
We must be approaching the border. No, nothing valuable really. Just some costume jewellery. I know they’re restricting what we can take out of the country, so I’m travelling light.
My watch? Yes, it’s a Cartier, what of it? Do you really think they’ll be that stringent? Oh dear, what shall I do? I should have left it at home, I suppose. But I need to be able to tell the time, don’t I? Surely they won’t confiscate it.
Oh, you’ll look after it for me? How kind. Yes, I suppose they won’t search you or anything like that, since you’re getting off at the next stop, before the border.
I agree. We have to help each other, in these difficult times.
(To Border Guard)
Here’s my passport, sir. No valuables, no. Just some costume jewellery, in my bag up there on the rack. Oh dear, can’t you just take my word for it?
Thank you, if you could just get it down again, for me . . . Sorry to be such a nuisance.
See, sir, nothing of value there.
Not at all. The law is the law, after all, must be obeyed.
(FX: Train slows to a stop. Hissing of steam, doors slamming.)
I suppose you’ll be getting off now. Can I have my watch back now, please?
What do you mean, “what watch”? My Cartier, you said I should hand it over to you for safe keeping. Now we’re past the passport control, I want it back, if you don’t mind.
Hey, where are you going? Give me back my watch, you bastard.
Stop that man, please! He’s a thief.
Stop right there, you schwein. Bloody fuck-pig! Give me back my watch.
Please help me, someone. He’s taken my Cartier. It was a present from my husband, when we got engaged. It’s the only thing left for me to remember him by. I trusted that man, and he’s stolen it from me.
Yes, I’m a Jew. What of it? You can’t just turn away and say it doesn’t concern you when I’m robbed. The hell with you all!
But I’ve still got my fur to keep me warm.
(GRAMS: I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm)
The Amsterdam docks
It’s not easy, a woman alone:
Pursued by war, she’s travelling on.
Friendless, penniless, from pillar to post,
She takes her place among the lost.
And only the lost can understand
Her loss of status, loss of homeland.
One thing remains, one vestige left.
Without it she’ll be a woman bereft.
When the chips are down, one rule you’ll find:
Compassion has a price, when time’s unkind.
(FX: Dockside noises, seagulls, water lapping.
(Distant artillery fire intermittent throughout the scene.)
Can you take me to England before the Nazis arrive? No, I don’t have any money. I had a Cartier watch but it was stolen from me by a false friend who said he’d look after it for me on the train from Frankfurt. He vanished with it when we got to the border.
People can be bastards when the chips are down. I’m learning that the hard way.
No, I’m not calling you a bastard. I’m sure you’re a very nice man who’ll be only too happy to help a lady in distress.
This fur? Well I’ll need it to keep me warm on the crossing won’t I?
Yes, it’s mink but . . .
No I don’t know how much it’s worth, I’m afraid. My husband bought it for my birthday. He’s back home in Germany. He had to divorce me to keep his job.
Yes, because I’m Jewish. That’s why I’ve got to get away before the Nazi troops arrive. They’ll send me to Dachau or somewhere worse, like Auschwitz, if you can’t help me escape.
No. I told you, I haven’t any money. Rich? You think all Jews are rich? I wish it were true. I’m no Rothschild. We were quite well off before that madman took power. Now all I’ve got is this fur coat, and you want to take it from me.
No, I know you’ll be taking a risk. I’d pay you if I could. But you’re a fisherman, aren’t you? You’d be going out tonight anyway, wouldn’t you? Well then . . .
OK, so you’re a man and I’m a woman. So what? I’m nobody’s whore.
Sorry, perhaps I misunderstood your meaning. But if your wife was here she’d understand. It’s hard enough just to survive. So many men are predators, seeing me as easy prey.
(FX: An especially loud explosion.)
Good God, that was close! Amazing how we call on him when the going gets tough. There are no atheists, they say . . .
Anyway, we can’t stand here arguing all night, waiting for them to get here. Perhaps there’ll be another fisherman . . .
Oh, those are your terms?
Is that your final word? Well then, I suppose needs must when the devil drives.
No, I’m not calling you a devil. It’s that madman, rampaging across Europe. Fortunately, there’s some sanity, even in the midst of the craziness of war. There have been people who helped, even at risk of their own lives.
And I was hoping you’d be one of them.
Well, as I say, needs must. Take the bloody fur. Hope it keeps her warm.
Oh, what kind of a bargain? Keep it till we get to England? That might work. How long before we leave?
As soon as possible, I’d say. The enemy is at the gates, but the harbour’s not in their hands yet. And there are still some good folks around, it seems.
It’s good to come across one of them, ready to help.
(FX: Another crash.)
So let’s go, OK?
On the high seas
The sea is neutral. It comes and goes.
It has no friends. It has no foes.
The fisherman’s solution to this riddle,
He plays both ends against the middle.
Harvest her bounty, respect the ocean,
Ride her swell, her relentless motion
Is part of life, and death also,
Is war and peace, for high and low.
(FX: Sea sounds, wind in the rigging, seagulls etc.
(An indistinct voice over a loud-hailer.)
Eh, what? I was asleep. What’s happening?
(FX: Thump of feet on the deck.)
Oh hello, young man. Are you English? Thanks be to God. Whoever he is, I’m sure he sails under the Union Jack.
Yes, I suppose you could say that. I’m a refugee. This kind man offered to bring me to a place of safety.
Yes, I suppose you could say I’m German. They took my passport away, so officially I’m a stateless person.
If you won’t have me, they’ll send me to the camps, the gas chambers.
Because I’m Jewish, don’t you see?
So will you take me or won’t you? Because if you won’t, I might as well throw myself overboard.
No, I’m not getting hysterical, just looking the facts full in the face. I’ve gone through so much . . .
OK, so I’ve got to jump across. Bloody hell, I’m getting a bit old for this sort of thing but here goes.
Farewell captain, and thanks for everything.
The fur? Well, our bargain was that you could have it when we got to England. But you haven’t delivered on that promise, have you? Perhaps this young man would like it for his girlfriend.
Meanwhile, I’ll need it for the rest of the journey. I’m sure you’ll understand.
Greetings to your wife.
(FX: Thump of her feet on the deck as she jumps across.)
Phew, I wouldn’t want to do that too often.
Now, young man, I suppose you wouldn’t have a Thermos of coffee or tea? No? Whisky? Rum, isn’t that what sailors drink?
Oh well, never mind. At least we’re on our way to freedom. At last.
What d’you mean, internment? I’m not an enemy alien, I’m a refugee, for God’s sake.
Yes, I know there’s a war on. But I thought we were on the same side.
Oh well, out of the frying pan . . .
In the camp
A war’s no time to make a fuss.
There’s only two sides to this question: them or us.
It doesn’t matter which you’re in,
They lump together kith and kin.
And even peace brings no relief.
You’re faced with choices beyond belief.
You think you’re certain where you’d go,
But others decide, they have the say-so.
The choice is not a simple East or West.
Right now the enemy of better is the best.
Thank you very much for seeing me. I know you’ve got a lot of people to see, and I don’t want to jump the queue.
Actually, that’s a lie. I’d do anything to jump the queue. I thought everything would be perfect when I got here, but it has really been schrecklich, horrible.
For a start, they put us here with all the Nazis. And guess who ran the camp, the herrenvolk, of course. People were murdered.
I blame the authorities, frankly. Anyone denounced by the Nazis got time in solitary. It happened to me, several times.
Yes, I suppose you could call me a stroppy Jew. Wouldn’t you be, after all I’ve gone through, escaping from the Nazis only to land up here, where they run things?
Yes, I know you’re Jewish, too. So I hope you understand, I’ve got to get out of here, if I’m to keep my sanity.
No, I’m not a Zionist. Why would I be? I don’t want to live like a bloody Arab. I want to go somewhere civilised, after all this. I’ve set my heart on New York. But anywhere Stateside would do me. I’d even stay in England, if all else fails, though I can’t stand the cooking. All those chips and soggy cabbage. Yeuch! I’d give this fur for a nice Wiener schnitzel. Or even a pork chop, onions on the side, cos I’m not kosher, food-wise.
Yes, I know the Yanks have a quota. But I won’t want to join their golf clubs. I used to like a rubber of bridge, back in the old country, but the cards didn’t fall my way.
So you can’t help me?
Oh, you can? So what’s life like there, in Tel Aviv? Are there coffee shops?
A kibbutz? I don’t think so. Run by Reds, most them, aren’t they? Everything owned in common, even the wives. That wouldn’t do me. No way! I like my privacy, me. Why I can’t stand it here. Informers listening at every door. Bad as the Reich.
I thought there was talk of sending us all to Africa. Kenya, wasn’t it? Oh, that’s fallen through.
Yes, I’ve heard of the Balfour Declaration, though I’ve no idea what it says. Oh, a Jewish homeland? And if I say no? Go home, live among the rubble, try to see if my ex is still alive?
No thank you. Too many bad memories.
So, Palestine then.
Oh, “Israel”. Sorry. “A land with no people for a people with no home.” Yes, I know the slogan. But I don’t go much for slogans. Sounds to me too like “Ein volk, ein Reich, ein Führer.”
But what about the Arabs? Isn’t it their home already? Oh, they’re leaving already. Refugees.
Like me, poor things.
The peoples of the world, a melting pot,
Sometimes the weather’s cold, sometimes hot.
Sometimes here, sometimes there.
It matters not. History doesn’t care.
Sometimes freedom beckons, sometimes the slave,
Sometimes the cradle, but all ends in the grave.
The persecuted have a logic, once they rule
The jackboot’s on their foot, the gun’s their tool.
A Chosen People, Master Race,
In the dance of death each must have their place.
One thought behind the human drive
From start to end, we must survive.
In a material world, it’s not what you think
That matters, so hold on to your mink.
(GRAMS: Comedie Harmonists: Wochenend’ Und Sonnenschein – Weekend and Sunshine)