He came home, But his home had gone. He was alone, There was noone. A teenage boy to the foetus of man, A machine in the making from Vietnam. They remind him that he's a national hero, But he finds no meaning, Just irrational believing, Of the trumpets and bells that ring so hollow. MAYDAY ! MAYDAY ! under fire from the press, Of a 'necessary' war according to the congress. His life was for death, and Uncle Sam, To make him a soldier therefore make him a man, By staining red fields of childrens blood, Tell them what is riteous, and what is good. The bullets he dodged seem easy now, But the weapons that hurt are triggered by big mouths. He did what was right in a war so wrong, He wasn't trained how to fight feelings so strong. So he finds a gun, that killed before, but who pulled the trigger? think now, be sure. Excuses are made to help get the stain out, But who pulled the trigger that blew his brain out? A dead hero is no good for a nation, He was welcomed home, But what was the reason for celebration? We expect so much and gave them nothing, Peace falls short to ease their hurting, Inner peace of a soldier cannot be acquired, Now he sleeps forever at peace, Never again has to be tired. Dead hero you can rest in peace now, Death is more than a life you had, There are no such thing as enemies, For we've all made the world bad. So the dead hero sleeps, ears deaf, eyes blind, and he will never awake again, never shake again, his soul scattered, dreams shattered, to go forward we must look behind. (written after watching 'once were soldiers')