​"One could have mistakenly assumed that each train could choose its own destination. But there was no choice. The Nazi operator sat in the station booth, his hands on levers and switches, forcing each train along its given path.

​One could have mistakenly assumed that each train could choose its own destination. But there was no choice. The Nazi operator sat in the station booth, his hands on levers and switches, forcing each train along its given path.

Our glass train, on fragile tracksBeneath bombs that fall like the floodTo wash away the shards—But all this sorrow will recedeAnd we will leaveTwo by twoAnd until then, I will only think of you.

Rumors are the children of truth.

They'll never know we were here.