If Shakespeare was in the Army

Machine guns are like crickets in the night,

Tracer bullets, fireflies, wiz by

We're bloody, torn, and hurting, still we fight,

Don't ask the cause, we couldn't tell you why.

Our minds don't answer Politics' faint call,

We're way too busy seizing a next breath

Then, there's the most tortured of us all,

Who wish for just an easy, painless death.

Victory is ugly, way up close

'We've won!' shout new ones, blood thirst in their eyes

But most of us think this is just as gross,

As all the bodies strewn about like flies.

We push these thoughts as far back as we can,

And raise our guns at strangers, like real men.