The crowd sees the pretty colored rockets in the night
I see ‘incoming’ and suppress the urge for flight
The crowd sees the exploding missile’s red glare
While I see only the enemy’s flares in the air
As the crowd’s roar gets louder with each new boom
I recall nights cringing in a musty bunker tomb
With each distant thump of the Roman candles
I feel my grip slipping on serenity’s handle
With each new colorful bomb bursting in air
I am transported back in time, back over there
Does the crowd even think about freedom’s high cost?
Does the crowd think about just how much we lost?
Or do they only see the synchronized light show
The joy of fireworks I will never again know
Regardless of the fear and the mental pain
For Freedom, I would do it all over again.