(no subject)
I cannot write this song.
I'm not there, in the dusty brown vistas of Iraq
and I can't feel what the stalwart soldiers fear
can't know their minds.
All I have are these troubling thoughts
full of squealing tires and harsh shouts
and even those are muted under the everyday.
I dated a soldier once or twice.
These are boys
not men
made men too soon
given power in the form of a weapon and
responsibility in the form of a uniform
and incompetence as a role model.
I fear for what their souls have suffered and will suffer
there is no going home from war for the poor lads
they will bring their battles with them to their deathbeds,
and may those be a long way off.
Bring the sons of this perverted freedom home.
I'm not there, in the dusty brown vistas of Iraq
and I can't feel what the stalwart soldiers fear
can't know their minds.
All I have are these troubling thoughts
full of squealing tires and harsh shouts
and even those are muted under the everyday.
I dated a soldier once or twice.
These are boys
not men
made men too soon
given power in the form of a weapon and
responsibility in the form of a uniform
and incompetence as a role model.
I fear for what their souls have suffered and will suffer
there is no going home from war for the poor lads
they will bring their battles with them to their deathbeds,
and may those be a long way off.
Bring the sons of this perverted freedom home.