I won’t write about war
I won’t write about killing and fears
I won’t tell about anguish and screaming
about losses and tears
march onward somewhere
carry guns, ammunition
a fork and grenades
a rope and a torch and a blade
for the soldier on foot
and
I will not write to say...
that it’s all for the good...
and
boots leaving prints in the sand...
proof we were here on new earth,
foreign land...
and
my comrade falls at my side
reaching up to my hand
there’s nowhere to hide
I have to go on
the war machine’s son
I just meet his eyes
and the light therein dies
...must walk on with the others
and cover the ground
because I am bound
to kill sons of mothers
I’ll come back for you
for my friend so true
but
march with the living
revenge in my heart
I’ll get even for you....
I won’t talk about anguish and screaming
I won’t write about killing and war
but
I will write about love, about peace and the hope in us all,
I will tell about the setting sun and the moon rising as I hear the distant lapping of the waves, gentle rustling of the leaves of spring and an owl calling...a chill in the air, about morning dew and a mist caressing the meadow, I will write about your sweet song as you rock the cradle I had built...
...rock-a-bye baby...
...rock-a-bye baby...
...in the tree top...owl calling...rustling leaves...moon rising...ocean roaring...
and
a rocket screams overhead....
...I cannot come for you my friend...
...I too am down...
...my blood is spilt...
...rock-a-bye baby...
