Helicopter water ballet
And Charlie's on the grid

Front and centering feng shui
Choreographed in the fields
Where ****** sticks to kids

War is the fashion
That never wears out

Smell its smoke
Sickly sweet and orange
In the early decay of morning

Air soaked with yellow heat.
leaves shaking the dark-green dread,
Silence on the narrow street,
Where our fathers lost the battle,
There! The firing squad is loud
They cried to history and fear
They cried to death and uncertainty

gökhan is turkish
it means: ruler of heaven

first time i met you:
september 3rd 1993
first day at school

we looked at each other
we wanted to sit together
we became friends

how sturdy you were
people always thought you
were much older
but me?

i had a babyface
hated my babyface
wanted to look older due to my
fatherless childhood
always wanted to be my own dad
wouldn't work though

so gökhan became my daddy
father figure and protector
i looked up to you my man

ruler of heaven

six years later you died of cancer
i rushed to the hospital
countryside germany

when entering your room
aware of your death
i saw your stiff body

and you were smiling
i will never forget that
gökhan

an african-turk growing
up in germany 1990s
called gökhan tatchouop
lost the battle against cancer
sixteen years old

and he really died with a smile
because he was a good man
who did the right thing

as i get older year by year
i could be gökhan's dad by now

you're with me

Fear's unknown to him
All wish their courage was like his

Loyal soul an' loyal heart
Being a warrior seems such an art

He yearns the glory feeling
Gettin' honor feels as good as lusting

But all he sees are ****** fields
Hearin' pain an' swords against shields

He's not scared of death
Pagan, in divine judgement, he's no faith

Crested helmet, drawn sword
"For the motherland", not another word

At the signal he'll unleash hell
After slaughterin' hostiles, he'll feel well

No one will be spared, he's merciless
But primarily, he's a fearless

I use poetry as my wielded sword

But I’m tired of fighting the same battles
And writing the same lines

How is this wound supposed to heal

if I keep prying it open?

-the battle is only in your head now

In my head again
fighting a battle
I know I can't win.

Shut down or stand up,
never good enough.
Insecurities.

Conceding no more,
hesitation gone,
I've settled the score.

Look in the mirror,
dismiss my disguise.
Fierce and Strong I rise.