he wasn’t meant for this kind of thing
a sensitive lad, poet and painter
he wanted to help, he really did
offered to drive an ambulance
trapped at the front lines
+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++
he heard too many calls of ‘incoming’
ground shaking thunder booming mind numbing
destruction death and blood blood blood
picking up his mental faculties out of the mud
climbing over the dead, nowhere to turn
+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++
looking through cognac made sunglasses
it’s all quiet meadows and mountain passes
~~~~~~
until you’re grabbed by the collar and returned
falling back under enemy attack
no retreat brass buttons orders
direct from the dashing general down at headquarters
making the bold decisions
he says defend until the last bullet, the last man
god, country, that sort of thing
here’s where we must make our final stand
+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++
