Hoodlum Conspicuous Events

Lyrics: Herman J. Roos Voice Generation: Nemo A Hoodlum of Conspicuous Events Verse 1 June the fifth, I came back home, From Vietnam’s heat and dust, Thought I’d slowly find my footing, Learn again who I could trust. From burning streets and distant wars, To South Africa’s winter air, I thought the guns were forty years And half a world from there. But reality don’t knock politely, It kicks the damn door in, Six days home and running hard, Before I could begin. Verse 2 On the seventh night I faced it, Not a photograph or screen, An old man lying broken In the silence of the scene. I bent down beside his body, Saw what one small bullet made, A gaping wound where life had been, And blood that would not fade. No marching band, no battlefield, No flags above our heads, Just flashing lights and quiet hands Among the living and the dead. Pre-Chorus Some bullets only touch the skin, Some never leave a scar, Some travel through the years and miles To find you where you are. Chorus We are the first ones through the darkness, When the world has come undone, We run toward what others run from, When the damage has begun. We honour every fallen soul, We celebrate each breath, Standing on the ragged frontline Between the living and the dead. No medals, no parade behind us, No glory when it ends— We are the hoodlums of conspicuous events. Verse 3 A naked girl runs through the fire, Napalm burning through her skin, A picture frozen in a moment That the world still carries in. I scroll through years of memories, Locked beneath the conscious mind, A helicopter lifting wounded, Leaving blood and dust behind. A telephone rings somewhere, A mother hears my voice, And I must tell her that her son Will never make it home. Every picture has a heartbeat, Every memory has a name, Some were lost despite our fighting, Some walked home because we came. Pre-Chorus We race against the closing circle, Try to hold it back somehow, But some things started long before They ever reached us now. And sometimes death just brushes past, Sometimes it takes its toll, Sometimes the bullet misses flesh And buries in the soul. Chorus We are the first ones through the darkness, When the world has come undone, We run toward what others run from, When the damage has begun. We honour every fallen soul, We celebrate each breath, Standing on the ragged frontline Between the living and the dead. No medals, no parade behind us, No glory when it ends— We are the hoodlums of conspicuous events. Bridge Seven days from Vietnam, No time to come back down, No gentle repatriation, Just another siren’s sound. And suddenly I understood What all those years had meant: Life is not a straight road home, It is collision and event. The circle turns before we see it, Long before we understand, And when it reaches someone’s doorstep, We are already on our way. Final Chorus We are the first ones through the darkness, When somebody cries for help, Carrying another stranger While forgetting for a while ourselves. We honour every fallen soul, We celebrate the ones who mend, Knowing every life we touch May change before the night can end. We don’t ask where the road is taking us, We go wherever it is sent— We are first responders, The hoodlums of conspicuous events. Outro Some bullets touch the body. Some bullets touch the soul. Some lives we cannot rescue. Somehow, we still must go. So when the sirens break the silence, And the night begins again, You’ll find us running toward it— The hoodlums of conspicuous events.