Young men come to serve in time of need,
senseless purpose but that of honor.
Fight for what's right, or what they say,
who needs things like God anyway?

Lives shattered like the buildings before,
the ground broken by the field of crosses.
Look at the faces crying,
teartrails on blood-dried faces.

My hands are tied,
souls gone to heaven by my hands.
My eyes are blind,
the fog of war has taken its toll.
My soul is gone,
drawn the lines that we have crossed.
My life is no more,
how can you find peace in the depths of war?

I've walked the walk, proved myself,
my bloody hands I can't deny.
Everywhere I look, it's still the same,
been washed away by genocide.

The grass grows between the teeth of a skull,
once had a name, once had a face.
Buried in a foxhole of shame,
buddies dead to what you consider life.

My hands are stained,
countless acts of violence in defense.
My eyes are strained,
seen too much, I can't be fazed.
My soul is tainted,
even God couldn't save me now.
My body is broken,
living life like there's no tomorrow.

The priest's words, they came to me,
said that I'd live forever.
He blessed me with a tear in his eye,
I knew he saw the monster.

Religion aside, I kept in stride,
just more killing by my hand.
How can we claim to be in the name of God,
when everyone's fighting for the promised land?

My hands are gone,
fought with everything 'till used up.
My eyes are gone,
tore them out by what I saw.
My soul is gone,
hell holds no dark shadows for me.
My body is gone,
it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Still with the love of God,
I send more of his children to him.
Immune to the screams and sorrows,
not even bothered by dead friends.

Can't sleep no more, nightmares worse than life,
pray to a God who is sickened by all.
Bless me Father, you're the closest to Heaven for me,
as I march on down to the paths of Hell.

11/17/2004

Posted on 11/18/2004
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