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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 at that;

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.

 

          I’m a 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

                             Into your land?

 


 

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