285... 284... Days


Why am I here?
What should I do?
I wanna go home,
but it's 285 'til I do.
Trying to make drinks and women,
dull my ravaged brain.
Maybe then it will ease
my burning pain.
"Puff the Magic Dragon"
exploding outside my door;
I really don't think,
I can take it anymore.
'Good Job Boys!"
the colonel exalts,
but where was he
through our horrid assaults?
My mother's smiling face,
hidden under my bed;
Would her smile remain,
if she heard what I said?
"I'm sorry lady, how
your child was shot,
that he's sprawled here,
and bleeding a lot.
Could've been VC,
hiding under your wing;
shooting him was
the best justice we could bring."
I swear to God,
my heart is turning to stone,
ever since my buddy gasped
his last breath, leaving me alone.
Why am I here?
What should I do?
I want to go home,
but it's 284 days 'til I do.

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