It's True, Heshie

Erie when they collided with our vision
But the more in did they usher.
Nowhere but war's fog would obscure our research
And it not merely lent the cover.

I worked for the Third Reich
I worked for mankind.
Our relationship carried no desire
Our relation was signed.

I, it was not, who declared myself devout
Casual assumptions placed by the lot of you.
Faith, it was not, that kept me in my seat
Fascination to those entranced in biblical feat.

Wreathed around my talent, they left no spare privilege
But scientific discovery.
While undecided, I lent those you know no less fruitful a fate
Furthering psychology.

These seats, tailored in the finest linen
You would be willing to rubify?
My hair, kept proper for hours countless
You would deliberately stupefy?

But I knew there would be close hatred
Which is why I sit in Germany still.
But seated not am I in another chapel
These walls resounding a symphony saturated.

On that podium stands Eugen Jochum,
Below this balcony.
The piece belonging to Carl Orff's composition,
“Carmina Burana”.

Out of virtue hundreds have gathered here
A Colosseum is preferable to this occasion?
A trumpet's innards never this undisturbed
Nothing boils or brews within yours?

Later you, certainly, would face ramification
Take this chance to reconsider.
The conductor, honorably, serves the recording
This moment proper for a hero's splendor.

Silence among us hasn't contributed a cure,
To the piece “When We're In The Tavern” I felt sure.
Absolutely it would feel better to swing
Than to selfishly clench the spring.
But you must feel so righteous and bold
With that slingshot you hold.