Black Market Dealers - Funker Vogt

Bombed ruins form the skyline

Burnt places — all around

People trading their possessions

A keepsake for some bread

Crowded trains full of people

Remindful of a cattle transport

Families get separated

On the way to their new homes

Still the children search for cover

When they hear the airplanes

Their bags are always packed

Just with dolls, books and pencils

It is the summer of fourty-five

Black-market dealers are in the streets

But we all feel so alive

Now we get again what we need

It is the summer of fourty-five

Black-market dealers are in the streets

But we all feel so alive

Now we get again what we need

The first black men they ever saw

Were among the foreign soldiers

Some of them were really kind

Bringing food and sometimes sweets

No more sirens in the night

Which made you run into the basement

No more fear of foreign soldiers

Who came to search the house

It is the summer of fourty-five

Black-market dealers are in the streets

But we all feel so alive

Now we get again what we need

It is the summer of fourty-five

Black-market dealers are in the streets

But we all feel so alive

Now we get again what we need

It is the summer of fourty-five

Black-market dealers are in the streets

But we all feel so alive

Now we get again what we need

It is the summer of fourty-five

Black-market dealers are in the streets

But we all feel so alive

Now we get again what we need