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?

Nobody answers,

nobody home

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.