By Frank Peter Hermsen


ThereŽs a whispering cloud in my head

And some sort of hate that makes me blind

For all this beauty all around

And the smiling faces that destruct my mind

I wont be quiet anymore

I will break the arms that hold me still

IŽll work again but for myself

And this town here is my place to till


I love these people of this wellfare-state

Who sent me to Vietnam in Ž64

Where I learned to hide to fight to kill

And where I became a child of that war

I love their eyes and their crazy hate

That scared my heart when I returned

And I even love the nightmare voices

Of the slant-eyed children that I burned


No job no girl no chance to be free

No telephone and noone to call

No home and noone who dares to care

My life is a tunnel that becomes to small

So I walk through my own damnation

Followed by faces that IŽll never know

Someone speaks Žbout desintegration

But I pray for the first stone to throw


Oh Lord, please let them hear

Oh Lord, or IŽll make them fear

Oh Lord, open their hearts

Oh Lord, my amok-run starts


Kill while you may

Kill while you may

Kill while you may

Kill while you may


© FPH 1991

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