It was my older brother Bill who talked
me into it,
I was just a dumbass kid and still
believed his shit;
He wore his gung-ho uniform, said it
would man me up,
My dad was drunk and signed the form and
sank back in his cup.
I went to war and learned that chore
before my own first kiss,
Got all badged up, and medals too: it
seems I couldn’t miss;
And at the end of that first tour I
re-upped for another,
My mates were there plus I’d just heard
I’d lost both dad and mother.
All I knew was how to kill and I was good
I could survive and stay alive, just
don’t deploy me back.
Finally someone called me in and sat me
in a room,
He said that it was over, and time to
head for home.
But I no longer have a home, and wasn’t
just a kid,
And everything I knew to do, back there
would be forbid.
stranger to myself and no friend to anyone,
Grown up to be a killer for a
war that wasn’t won.
But now they want me to return
- resume a “normal” life.
To me that means I lock and
load and sharpen up my knife...
Please help me to understand
Where can I fit