ruthie warren

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Auschwitz

So with each day that passes by do angels gather at my door
and with each passing breath I learn to fear my death no more
My stomach yearns for food, its learned to cope but still it craves
I look around the room to find the dead that dig the graves.
Should I awake from this vile dream and find reality
is nothing more than futile hope then dear god pity me.

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