untitled sick poem
So you're sick of the way the country is run,
And you're sick of the rationing that is done,
And you're sick of standing around in line,
You're sick, you say well that's just fine,
Yes, I'm sick of the sun and heat
And I'm sick of the feel of aching feet
And I'm sick of the mud and the jungle flies
And I'm sick of the stench when night mists rise,
And I'm sick of the sirens wailing shriek
And I'm sick of the groans of the wounded and the weak
And I'm sick of the sound of the bomber's dive,
And I'm sick of seeing the dead alive,
And I'm sick of the roar and noise and din,
And I'm sick of the taste of food from a tin,
And I'm sick of slaughter—I'm sick to my soul.
I'm sick of playing a killer's role
And I'm sick of blood and death and smell,
And I'm even sick of myself aswell
But I'm sicker still of a tyrant's rule.
And conquered lands where wild beasts drool.
And I'm cured damn quick when I think of the day,
When all the hell will be out of the way.
When none of their mess will have been in vain.
And the lights of the world will blaze again;
And things will be as they were before,
And kids will laugh in the streets once more,
And the America flag will be dipped and furled
And God looks down on a peaceful world.
And you're sick of the rationing that is done,
And you're sick of standing around in line,
You're sick, you say well that's just fine,
Yes, I'm sick of the sun and heat
And I'm sick of the feel of aching feet
And I'm sick of the mud and the jungle flies
And I'm sick of the stench when night mists rise,
And I'm sick of the sirens wailing shriek
And I'm sick of the groans of the wounded and the weak
And I'm sick of the sound of the bomber's dive,
And I'm sick of seeing the dead alive,
And I'm sick of the roar and noise and din,
And I'm sick of the taste of food from a tin,
And I'm sick of slaughter—I'm sick to my soul.
I'm sick of playing a killer's role
And I'm sick of blood and death and smell,
And I'm even sick of myself aswell
But I'm sicker still of a tyrant's rule.
And conquered lands where wild beasts drool.
And I'm cured damn quick when I think of the day,
When all the hell will be out of the way.
When none of their mess will have been in vain.
And the lights of the world will blaze again;
And things will be as they were before,
And kids will laugh in the streets once more,
And the America flag will be dipped and furled
And God looks down on a peaceful world.
posted by SamuRyan at 12:12 PM
1 Comments:
I found this today while trying to find an article printed in the Chestnut Street Association in Philadelphia - - I cannot tell the year. It says "the author is unknown, but his one of the boys now overseas." I had received a photocopy at our local American Legion Post and have made some copies to put in a booklet for our newest Auxiliary initiates.
I suspect I have now found the AUTHOR ... I thank God for your father because he definitely had a talent, and he most certainly shared it well. I hope all is well with you and your family. Not to worry - - I will be giving your father credit.
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