The World Forgets
1933, a library burnt. A library about me. All the knowledge about me, Gone into fumes. I turn into ashes in the mind of the world, A pest to eliminate, The idea of an idiot, A f*ggot who has lost his mind, The kind we send in the slaughterhouses, A pink triangle. And just like that, The world can forget about us. 1933, my history destroyed in slaughterhouses; The world forgets. 1945, the world promises not to forget. The slaughterhouses are closed for good, Finally f*aggots and I can breathe freely, Without fear of existing. The world promises this is…
