'You wear it so well,' is what I'm always told.
I felt so proud, the first time I put on that suit
Wearing it nobly like a great knight of old
As if wars were won by marching and shining boots
Flying deep green colors and gilded crests
Sixteen and handsome, admired by friends,
A patch on my shoulder, but I'm dressed for success.
This patch represents what I'm sworn to defend.
The colors now faded to the same pale dust
As the grit and the mud that my friends and I crawl through
As bullets whizz overhead, screaming their bloodlust
"Kill, Kill!" Sarge's unholy chorus rings out anew,
Fueling young men's insatiable need
To give in to contention, to take up the gun,
To respond to the tension cause by color and creed,
And just like Cain, to kill his father's son.
What did my my grandfather lose his mind for?
Why did God's son bring a message of peace?
So that young men could be spared the horror of war,
In God we trust not, but the global police
We expect can protect us from men's evil thoughts.
The weapons we sought for are buried in words,
Whose mass destructive effect has already been wrought.
We fear for a tragedy which has already occurred.
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