Saturday, September 13, 2014

When Johnny Comes Marching Home

How wonderful it must be
to finally be free
to sing and dance and jump around
and forget all the people still there in the ground.

How glad it must be to find
a little piece of mind,
somewhere where the muzzles don't flash,
somewhere where all that is green has not turned to ash.

How do I get to that place?
Can I ever erase
every horror that I have seen,
every nightmare that has now become so routine?

Can I ever go back home
or will my mind still roam
to every place I've seen blood spill
to every lonely roadside grave I've helped to fill?

If fate could ever be kind
I'd leave all this behind
I wouldn't soldier anymore
I'd gladly go back to the life I had before.

All about me I can see
every ghost made by me
every moment they gather round
and remind me of all the horrors I helped found.

They're all here inside my head,
all the souls I've seen dead.
Their eyes still haunt me to this day
And as hard as I try I cannot look away.

Their voices I'll always hear
whispering in my ear.
It's with them I will always roam -
for me there shall not ever be a coming home.

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