I was a boy when I went in.
Now a man with nerves worn thin.
All that pain left me depressed.
Many feelings now repressed.
Training drills could not prepare
for all that hatred and despair.
Love and hope and better days.
Vanished in a blood-soaked haze.
Much to do, and sights to see
passing through that mad journey.
Memories I do not want
Nightly in my dreams they haunt.
Taken from the ones I love.
Hawk transformed from peaceful dove.
Sent to fight another's war.
The life I knew would be no more.
Forced to kill, no other way
and if you don't it's your last day.
Every turn on death's patrol
had demons vying for your soul.
Every day, an open door.
Never knowing what's in store.
Getting high to stay in touch.
With a life you miss so much.
Welcome to your brand new home.
Here's your gun, you best not roam.
Charley was the name they gave
to people we put in a grave.
It rains here nearly every day.
It never seems to go away.
Tie your feet in woolen knot
or you'll get that jungle rot.
Snakes with poison, bugs that kill.
Every step a fateful thrill.
When you think you've had enough.
Things begin to get real tough.
A sniper takes another friend,
Danger lurks round every bend.
Fighting, dying, rapid pace.
Many kills come face to face.
Children warriors with a gun.
Shooting them is not much fun.
Anger, rage, and much betrayal.
Careful how you open mail.
The smell of napon in the air.
A stench of death was everywhere.
Agent Orange, booby trap.
Mortars, tracers, and the clap.
Diphtheria, cholera, and don't forget malaria.
amputation, hesitation, panic, fear, hysteria.
Your every day so action-packed.
Glad I left before I cracked.
Shells exploding, head for shelter.
Bodies flying helter skelter.
Now you see them, now you don't.
Need to cry, afraid you won't.
Bamboo shacks, some set ablaze.
People piled in gruesome maze.
Tortured victims in the camps
lit at night with wicker lamps.
All these visions in my head.
Sometimes wish that I were dead.
Did some things one can't explain.
Enough to make you go insane.
Hate and greed was why we're there.
Those who sent us just don't care.
Ever since we did that tour
secrets held that hold a cure.
When we got home they turned their back.
Said that we were all on smack.
Called us killers of the young.
Evil names, on us, they hung.
Many years have come and gone.
And now we know that it was wrong.
Friends and family paid the price.
Cause our leaders rolled them dice.
Now in the homes and on the street
are warriors left with harsh defeat.
No one wants to say a thing
about the evils wars can bring.
Many live without a limb
disfigurements that are too grim.
So many minds are in a haze
dwelling on those horrid days.
Aging vets live on the street.
Beg for work so they can eat.
Victims of society.
Only death can set them free.
People still just pass them by
not a penny, not a hi.
All that hell that we went through.
None of it gets through to you.
Leukemia and amputees,
dysfunctionals they say, but please.
Junkies with their last resort.
Soldiers still on life support.
All this pain and disillusion.
From a war that was confusing.
Most of us had no real choice.
Jailed you if you raised your voice.
The fallen names are on a wall
and you know that's nice and all.
But friends and family of the slain
must ask themselves what did they gain?
While benefits are cut some more
them politicians close the door.
Praising them that sacrifice.
Those two-faced men that act like mice.
And even after all that crap.
Most people still don't see the trap.
Look at how they treat their men
while hiding in their wealthy den.
Banker's profit, futures lost.
Selling death at any cost.
Life is cheap to them that rule.
They've never had to play the fool.
Since they have the most to lose
you'd think they'd be the first to choose.
To defend our way of life.
Freedom is a two-edged knife.
Their factories that make war toys
are killing girls and killing boys.
War to them is so much fun.
There's always more, they're never done.
It's good business so they say.
They get rich while we all pay.
It's your life and it's your money.
When they take them it ain't funny.
War's not for the faint of heart
and rich men rarely do their part.
They're the masters, we're the slaves.
From our birth into our graves.
War's are fought by common folk
what happens there's a tragic joke.
So much waste and so much lost
and we're the ones who pay the cost.
@December,2003 Daniel Glover