I hold a photograph, black and white
Up in front of me, and connect the lines
The structure of the buildings, the trees, and the pavement
The bridge and its railings, the shop window and canopy
And the scene in front of me, the one I’m living in
It’s beautiful and lively, full of real colour and light
With tourists looking down at maps, taking their photographs
Children running around with cones of ice cream in their hands
Cars rolling by, going off to a tall glass building somewhere
Advertisements on the street show the next thing we should buy

But the photograph I hold in my hand, it tells a different story
Of a crippled economy and time when life was a horror movie
The buildings were mere shadows, lurking like dark prisons
Soldiers marched through streets, gripping their separate guns
They shoot when they see fit, when they see the enemy
How do we know he’s an enemy? Well, he’s from a different country
And their blood stains the pavement; the clouds roll black in the skies
The fires of bombs illuminate the cities like swarms of fireflies
And from this picture I hold, it all looks black and white
But you and I both know this happened in perfect colour
People lived and died through it, the horror and the bloodshed
The terror of concentration camps, and blackouts every night

Just because it’s finished, and more than half a century has passed
Just because they rebuilt everything, and buried the dead bodies
Just because it’s now black and white, a history subject at school
It does not mean it didn’t happen to real people in real places
And while we divert our eyes and try to forget
Let’s just take a minute to remember.