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Suddenly he will spring to his feet, seize his kris, dash into the street, and run headlong, no matter where. He stabs any who happen to find themselves in his path, and the shedding of blood infuriates him more and more. He foams at the mouth, shouts as he runs, tears on and on, brandishing his blood-stained dagger. Everyone knows that nothing but death will stop the madman; they scurry out of his way, shouting ‘Amok, Amok,’ to warn others. Thus he runs, killing, killing, killing, until he is shot down like the mad dog that he is.
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Gelince Haber VerSuddenly he will spring to his feet, seize his kris, dash into the street, and run headlong, no matter where. He stabs any who happen to find themselves in his path, and the shedding of blood infuriates him more and more. He foams at the mouth, shouts as he runs, tears on and on, brandishing his blood-stained dagger. Everyone knows that nothing but death will stop the madman; they scurry out of his way, shouting ‘Amok, Amok,’ to warn others. Thus he runs, killing, killing, killing, until he is shot down like the mad dog that he is.
