The dense night sky rained molten thunder
A deafening melee of painted metal
Painting an eerie red glow of death
against the heavy scent of old rice paddies
and the decay of ancient jungle
Not a place to vacation, this is called war
Our continued existence unsure
Life here is cheap, only the body count soars

To live and be sound, you cannot care
Yet bonds once formed, much stronger than any before
Jungle rot, agent orange and death
Loss of limb and delayed stress are your rewards
We have come here not by our request
left our loves and our lives, for our lives they dread
Yet at home they abhor us, protest
Is it us, or them, who really gives a damn