Awakened by a story of Love and Honor read.
Haunted by liquid Blue eyes I never saw.
A boy of nineteen filled with hope and dreams
who died for no reason, far from home in a sea of his own red.
The law of the land they said. Drafted and herded like cattle...
As, liars dressed in blue striped suits talked of acceptable losses,
and causalities for the cause, with drinks in their hands. Safe.
Our friends died in a jungle war, over Power and papers colored green.
While lawyers lay in soft beds. What would God have said?
What of the Kansas Mom who lost him, who made her life complete.
Does the widow weep for other womens boys? Their temples destroyed by
greeds need.
Yellow cornfields were watered with salty tears the day the jungle was
watered
with the running red life of futurless boys.
His dreams gone, stole by Ceasars lead,
thrown by other lads, doing what they were told.
Thinking their Government knew what was right. The it has always been, same
story old...
No winners just the dead.
Boys dying to the diesel drums of a lonely song, on river rafts made from
steel.

Oh! Brokers of Death, what of the living?
Those who held the dying, filled with Hate and Rage under the eastern sun.
Time died too, as the honourable love of friends so young, slipped through
blood soaked fingers. With Death coming in the form of fiery hot lead flies
in the rivers air, was there time to say goodbye? Did those in Power care?
By all the Gods in all the worlds, how did John Wayne make this look like
fun?

You Senators, saying a Christian prayers before you vote for wars your sons
will not fight in, I ask are the commandments ten just suggestions be?

Too young I am to have been placed in harms way,
yet family I have lost yet in jungles far way from Galveston Bay.
And each year I ride to a wall black covered with names our Congressmen have
forgotten.
Names of sons, brothers, daughters, uncles, lovers, and friends...
I ride here to tell you cowards behind the ivy covered walls I remember yet.
You remember too, Romans dressed in American clothes, I vote, on that you
can bet.

Before I again can sleep, Cry will I,
for those who will forever be nineteen.