Son Of...

I am the son of Adolf Hitler
My father was a monster, and my mother... oh my poor mother !
Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's heavy to carry
But every son of should join their hands and tell the good people :
"We're not sons of, we're not sons of...
We are freaks."
I'm walking in the streets through your screaming, through your spit
And here are your wives saying : "Look at his eyes, he must be the devil inside... The texture of his hair, the rictus on his face : yes he's the son of Adolf Hitler !"
Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's heavy to carry
But every son of should join their hands and tell the good people :
"We're not sons of, we're not sons of..."
That's what the people of this town want you to know :
"If your blood is polluted, if you're in any need of aid...
You should be better off dead !"