Darkness spilt in summer 1942,

Like oil into open ocean.

The bitter taste of hate stung at their tongues,

Gnawing like termites through walls.

Jews are rats in the attic,

Begging to the sky for any more,

Any more food

Or light,

Or a whiff of air that didn't reek of Nazi sweat.

Freedom taunts the attic rats,

With a flick on the nose and a simple wave of the finger.

The sky bullies the love they could have,

As living like rats has done the families dirty in more ways than one.

Love is freedom's follower,

And the Jews chase for both.

They must be uncaged,

For only then can the warmth of love sink into their hearts to its fullest.

Eight rats,

One stealing food,

One a dentist,

And all in a hurry,

Yet a life-long wait.

Cooped up in Amsterdam's waiting room

They listen to the communal organ chime the hour,

And the then-today's youth squeal on the streets.

Because they own those streets.

Over 40,000 camps,

40,000 ways to die

And the only protection they had

Was a bookcase blocking the door

And a building 350 years old.

Love is freedom’s follower, 

and freedom had yet to come.

The outside is only a dream in the rat's world.

They live confined in plain white walls

and with more hope than they have food.

Love is a freedom's follower.

And those "rats" were never truly free.