Trigger warnings: implied alcoholism

I hated the sight of blood on my hands.

Why was I there, fighting on foreign lands?

I didn't understand the grey haired men in power,

Who sent their sons instead because they were cowards.

Everyone wanted to win but no one wanted to fight

But when they amputated they gave me a bullet to bite.

They promised me a pension and a college education,

All I got was some booze and a life of isolation.

That land mine didn't only take my leg that night;

It took my faith, my soul, and my will to fight.

So cut the bull, and don't give me that lie,

Because I was eighteen, too young to die.

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