|Bobby Bolduc @ War|
Bobby sat down at the typewriter
dreaming of sand and fun in the sun
so he thought to himself,
"why don't I . . ."
and nothing but empty space in mind
left god the perfect opening to
whisper in his ear, "join the army."
and so he did. And so came Iraq.
Among these burning walls,
these golden halls
and the billowing pillars of black smoke
that are post-war Irag,
you will find an American soldier,
young Boby Bulduc,
whishing for all his time back
and wondering out loud:
why - with my wife (life) a thousand miles away
and my babies (family) gaining birthdays -
have I lent my labors to this liar's cause?
Am I he, like Salomon,
chosen to decide the fate of a nation?
Am I he, like Job,
wandering, afflicted on a whim
to see if democracy holds the secret
to the truth of faith?
Am I the one granted the power to lead
these people like sheep
to the promised land - you know, the mall?
Foreign nations with foreign names
dangerous people playing dangerous games
kill kill kill
and all is
fear fear fear
paranoia and an M16 go hand in hand
especially on the open, angry road
There must be some mistake
I didn't mean that they
could fake a war
Who do you think you are
turning trust to tears
where has the meaning gone?
what will be left when I'm gone
This dog and pony show
must go on.