[Written when I was 18 years old.]
31 August 1993, 2.01 am. Re: Bosnia.
How can we sleep
when so many hearts cry and tear out
How can we close our eyes
upon the blood-drenched peace treaties
and Devil Deals with us in his own way
How can we slumber
while brutality and killing all around and over
this world sighs and tosses and turns
while that world cries and corpses and burns
But our souls stench more than their smoke
How can we snore out our dreams
of happily married and children's things
while our doppelgängers bludgeoned like '39
and world cries "the fascist swine"
and yet we dream and sleep and snore some more
And we'll make tonnes of love
and babies too who gently to adulthood move
On our island safe and sounds of war
so far away like what Grandpa saw and history taught
and Zeds turn to SS and I see men with a little moustache and hate
Heil! Those who sleep through and know what nothing history is.