Talk to me wall!
Tell me stories, tell me tales of things you know.
I want to learn the truth. Do you know the truth?
Will it hurt to know?
Is there a world of hurt written upon your face?

I see worlds of hurt on other faces,
Sounds of weeping from the depths of time,
Cries of anguish over a friend's remembrance.
Are these the only stories you have to tell?
There has to be more!
A story for each day, for each name,
Tens of millions different stories.
Yet there's only one I hear.
A day of death, fifty eight thousand times over.
Still that's not the whole truth.
There's names missing!
There's still faceless, nameless, restless souls
In the empty spaces on your face.

Talk to me wall!
Tell be about the streets of Saigon and DaNang.
Tell be about the bay of CamRanh,
the rice patties in the boonies,
the forest trails, the hills and mountains.
Let me feel the humid heat,
Monsoon rains, bites of insects.
Let me feel the fire of heroin and morphine
within my veins.
Let me experience the lonely terror of night,
the beauty of an Asian star filled night,
an Asian sunrise and sunset.
Let me smell the smells of joint,
of city streets, of country villages,
cans of burning human waste.

Talk to me wall!
There are other tales you tell.
I hear sounds of protest and riots, of police sirens,
shouts of 'hell no we won't go!'
There's voices saying send more men,
others saying bring them home.
There's music in the air---songs of protest,
ballads of a whole generation.
There's bombs and firefights on campus grounds.

Talk to me wall!
There's incoming whistling through the air.
There's mortar shells on the way out.
There's Spooky overhead
sending down strings of white metal.
There's sounds of Heuy's in the air.
Are they coming to take me out into the boonies?
Will I get to fly high and fast over the land?
Sitting in the doorway with my boots dangling,
the land just a blur below?
Or am I at the LZ on a stretcher,
waiting to fly out of this place?
What does a Heuy sound like
when it comes to take you out of this place?

Talk to me wall!
Talk to me like you talk to that dude over there,
kneeling for the longest time.
Or that other dude crying and leaning
upon your black face.
What is it you tell him
that you can't, won't, tell me?
Does he hear the laugh of a friend
while they sit in a bar, sharing a beer?
Or does he hear the sounds of death
while holding his hand?

Talk to me wall!
Tell me stories, tell me the things you know.
I want to learn the truth. Do you know the truth?
Will it hurt to know?
Is there a world of hurt written upon your face?