Ah, when you're there in the midst of it all,
When the bullets are flyin', and death is on call,
In the mud and the blood and the one-oh-five's bang,
For the risk of your dyin' you don't give a hang.
It's later, you know, in the darkness of night,
When no one's about, you give way to fright.
You think of the friend you had yester day
And the blood that spilled out in the mud where he lay.
Your own hands are clean, no blood have you spilled,
But telling their story can still get you killed.
You'll write it all up, with pictures as well,
How dirty and gory, the doorway to hell.
Edit: Prompted by a comment from Baron.



LinkBack URL
About LinkBacks
Reply With Quote





Bookmarks