As he came into the bunker,
the night in which he died,
Hitler walked into his foyer,
to think about his life.
And pondering the world he made,
the war, the camps, the Jews,
the bureaucrats handing down fate
to the weak and the few,
he brought the pistol to his head,
as cyanide he did taste,
and in a chuckle, he was dead –
with a smile on his face.