The Final Solution I

As innocence receives the mark of man a war is waged in silent turpitude. It seeps within the solace of the land erasing all in morbid solitude. For any souls so deemed to be unfit are subjects for eradication’s storm, ‘tis an agenda, strategized through writ to replicate those features that conform. Though death is but a consequence of war, ‘tis inhumane when empathy is lost. When lunacy is central to its core, complacency shall magnify the cost. As Einsatzgruppen swept the countryside, a silent stench unveiled the evil tide. A silent stench unveiled the evil tide of treachery that crept from door to door. And, once ajar it swiftly barged inside where innocence was gathered by the score. With dire contempt and mechanized deceit, it put their pilgrimage upon display. The road to judgement traced a cobbled street as those that bore the blood were led away. But irony consumed these savage raves as guilt instilled his militants of crass, for nothing evil filled those hallowed graves nor justified indignity in mass. As moral madness stalked the minds of man, the rails of death excelled his master plan. The rails of death excelled his master plan beyond the bounds of moral dissolute. Each scheduled route allowed it to expand an exodus of death beyond dispute. An endless stream of mechanized deceit traversed the ferrous corridors of hate. Efficiency assured it would repeat a never-ending rendezvous with fate. ‘Twas but a farce that secrecy prevailed to cloak the doomed migrations bound within Your gawking crowds along the tracks regaled thus, sharing in this spectacle of sin. This obvious deceit would be denied as trails of wrath traversed the countryside. As trails of wrath traversed the countryside, contempt was spread to justify the cause. A frantic discontent was glorified to disavow and weaponize the laws. ‘Twas but a sin surrendering the field, such degradation left a cruel scar. Now all of blood that pressed the king to yield must bear this shame and don the Hebrew star. When Aryan becomes a manic goal all reason is obscured by blood impure. As vitriol consumes his rabid soul, annihilation wields the only cure. ‘Tis but a ruse attempting to disguise this grand design to automate demise. This grand design to automate demise led able souls to tread the way of wrath. A reaper's voice instilled all hope with lies then hurried them along their final path. Upon the landings, masses would unfold from ribbon rails that drove them into hell. Each mother’s child was stolen from her hold as boxcar doors kept clanging out the knell. Amid the madness mankind would deny these horrid acts dispensed upon command. And, hearts of those that eerily stood by bore not the beating hearts of moral man. His strategy to tranquilize this sin let murderers subdue the guilt within.