Bad Aibling, Germany 
There's a spa 
With a big sauna
Up the road from our hotel. 
One of the guys 
In our crew
Walked in the sauna,
Not realizing 
That everyone 
Was naked,
And caught an eyeful 
Of another guy's junk 
In his face 
as he walked in. 
"It looked like a leprechaun 
Jumping out of a bush."

12 days ago
We were in Paris. 
Tonight we are Germany.
As we closed our set in Marsberg,
Sweaty, exhausted, delirious,
We were hit with the news 
Of the violence in Paris
Which unfolded as 
We played. 
Kent (bass) checked on his girlfriend
Who lives in Paris 
And who we stayed with 
When we flew in. 
Behind the sound 
Of beer bottles being tossed
In garbage cans 
And the laughter 
Of the lingering post-show crowd,
You can feel the buried tension 
And sadness 
That traffics in the subtext 
Of the modern world. 
This subconscious fear. 
Irritating and manipulative. 
It's turning everyone born 
In the last 75 years
Into a collective group
I'm going to herein 
Refer to as Generation Mongo. 

As we were walking through 
The former concentration camp 
At Bergen-Belsen (now a memorial),
In the distance
We hear the eerie sound 
Of German soldiers firing machine guns
In measured bursts
On the range 
At the military installation next door. 
I guess they were doing drills. 
The whole place is surrounded 
By a military base. 
It Definitely created an odd feeling
Among us 
As we were staring
Down at these mass grave sites. 
At first 
I thought 
Was that 
The machine gun sounds 
were being pumped 
In from speakers 
Hidden in the woods
Like some kind of solemn/weird 
Multimedia experience. 
"No, man. That's real."
And it was. 

Karlsruhe, Germany. 
We park the van 
In an alley behind the club
To unload gear.
Foot traffic has to 
walk around van. 
As we're unloading,
A paraplegic
In a wheel chair rolls up on us
And begins vocalizing noises
That indicate anger & distress 
With his mouth.
Sort of fitfully expressing 
That he is there
And that we are blocking
his passage. 
I look at Greg, 
Point to the paraplegic guy
And say "Help him,"
Meaning shut the cargo door
To the van....
So that the guy can get by.
And not understanding me,
Greg throws his arms up,
"What do you want me to DO?!"
I'm like, "Just shut the door 
So he can pass through.
What did you think he wants 
A quarter for the jukebox?"
Greg shuts the door
And the guy motors safely 
Around us. 

One day
Everybody in the band
Stepped in the same pile 
Of dog shit 
On our way 
To the van.

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