You can ask me about the Holocaust.
After I tell you what I know, I will say,
"I remember nothing more."
If you ask me again, I will say, "I remember nothing more."
If you ask me to tell you of the horror and the dying, and the suffering, the pain, and the death camps, I will tell you.
Then, I will say, "I remember nothing more."
In a safe room at a safe hospital, in Paris, France, away from Germany.
White sheets, green and blue walls.
I will try to sleep, and when I don't you will ask me why.
You will tell me that it's alright,
the camps are closed, the war is over, that Hitler is dead.
I will take little comfort in that.
I will say, "I remember nothing more."