When I fought in the deserts of Stalingrad, (God please watch over the souls of my comrades), and later on put my foots between the penguins in the snowfields of Italy to sail off again towards the tundras of Normandy to follow my way to Berlin, I never thought of how the world would be after the year 2000.
And if it crossed my mind by accident, I must have thought that I would fight still huge battles against enemies as I have done for so many years.
I fought the clans of Attila, the French in the Napoleon wars, the Krauts in Europe, the Russians in Stalingrad (I was never able to choose which enemy I should be fighting.). and more and more battles.
And man, did we fight brave even thou the shit was running down our legs.
I even remember a fight near by the Sahara swamps, were we run into the armies of Rommel.
I broke through the enemy frontline, Dutchman are always the first to breakthrough the enemy frontline as you may know, and lots of Tommys were following me into the Sahara waters, where grizzlies watched us go by as if nothing like wars were threatening their fragile habitat.
Shocked by what is just saw I lost my battalion and decided to continue my quest on my own. Thinking of me creating a breakthrough
Finding my image on the covers of magazines and newspapers as a fine hero.
How my fathers pride would drip down from his old grey face when I arrived home as a true war-hero and met him after these long battles.
As he did once before, when I got back from a fight against the Romans in southern France where I stood up for the Gallics.
My homecoming after this clash was enjoyed by both of my parents, my father did see me fight the Roman chariots on the T.V. while a BBC News reporter made an hallelujah to the great Dutchman.
Who was I.
How brave we were, always fighting enemies worth fighting, always respecting the guys at the other side.
Well, it was war.
What else could we do.
Yet in my dreams I wake up in the year 2004 and every morning I see on the T.V. that the wars have changed.
People get killed for things they say or get shot because they criticize other groups and invite them to discuss the facts.
Or just get shot for saying controversial things from out of a humoristic idea.
And one day I even had a dream that a musician was shot down on stage by a fucked up fan, because he choose to break up the fans most favourite band.
And I thought of the murders I saw in the days after as they were expressed in my dreams.
And I remember each death as a nightmare.
While waking up I was glad that these were nightmares and I could think of the things that happened to me in those wars.
Not a dream, reality.
The grizzlies in Afrika, the Penguins in Italy and the deserts of Stalingrad.
Looking back, the wars were never heroic as we all thought they were going to be.
Just massive slaughters on battlefields moistened with dark red stinking blood.
With only one big difference.
The respect that we fought eachother with in the back of our minds.
And if it crossed my mind by accident, I must have thought that I would fight still huge battles against enemies as I have done for so many years.
I fought the clans of Attila, the French in the Napoleon wars, the Krauts in Europe, the Russians in Stalingrad (I was never able to choose which enemy I should be fighting.). and more and more battles.
And man, did we fight brave even thou the shit was running down our legs.
I even remember a fight near by the Sahara swamps, were we run into the armies of Rommel.
I broke through the enemy frontline, Dutchman are always the first to breakthrough the enemy frontline as you may know, and lots of Tommys were following me into the Sahara waters, where grizzlies watched us go by as if nothing like wars were threatening their fragile habitat.
Shocked by what is just saw I lost my battalion and decided to continue my quest on my own. Thinking of me creating a breakthrough
Finding my image on the covers of magazines and newspapers as a fine hero.
How my fathers pride would drip down from his old grey face when I arrived home as a true war-hero and met him after these long battles.
As he did once before, when I got back from a fight against the Romans in southern France where I stood up for the Gallics.
My homecoming after this clash was enjoyed by both of my parents, my father did see me fight the Roman chariots on the T.V. while a BBC News reporter made an hallelujah to the great Dutchman.
Who was I.
How brave we were, always fighting enemies worth fighting, always respecting the guys at the other side.
Well, it was war.
What else could we do.
Yet in my dreams I wake up in the year 2004 and every morning I see on the T.V. that the wars have changed.
People get killed for things they say or get shot because they criticize other groups and invite them to discuss the facts.
Or just get shot for saying controversial things from out of a humoristic idea.
And one day I even had a dream that a musician was shot down on stage by a fucked up fan, because he choose to break up the fans most favourite band.
And I thought of the murders I saw in the days after as they were expressed in my dreams.
And I remember each death as a nightmare.
While waking up I was glad that these were nightmares and I could think of the things that happened to me in those wars.
Not a dream, reality.
The grizzlies in Afrika, the Penguins in Italy and the deserts of Stalingrad.
Looking back, the wars were never heroic as we all thought they were going to be.
Just massive slaughters on battlefields moistened with dark red stinking blood.
With only one big difference.
The respect that we fought eachother with in the back of our minds.
