Nineteen and sixty-eight
jungle snakes slithering around the dead,
napalm and marijuana wafted its way
through the remaining broken grunts.
War had hit its prime.
Copters stop on a dime.
I tell you it’s a crime
To see your buddy’s head blown off.
What was it for?
in castles made of sandstone.
You die alone in Saigon homes.
Your friends are just as dead as you
What for? You ask.
Nobody’s home in the Hanoi sandstones.
Take a piece of metal
Craft it into death
while the world holds its breath,
give me another hit on that meth.