Distinguish To Kill Bathory

System the crocked cross
The code yellow star
Machinery of death will grind
The trains keep on rolling
Both nearby and far
The cargo is of Abrahams kind

Gasping for air
In the stench and the heat
Losing track of the number of days
Only the cramped space
Keeps people afeet
While all hope vanishes like a haze

All comes to hault
And the doors slam wide open
Then all are called out on the ground
A sweet sour smell
Fills all lungs on the platform
The roar of the death machine sounds

Phallos of death
Giant chimneys arise
Spewing ashes and fire way high
The disciplin of racial purity
The code by which you all
Fuckin' must die