Diggin' into pills,

Sleepin' without peace,

Tastin' the grime,

The gunshots will never cease.


PTSD is my diagnosis,

The bottle my friend;

Drownin' in memories,

Ain't nobody can comprehend:


Seeing Errol Millard*

Die a bloody death,

Watching an IED

Blow up my buddy Seth.


Now ain't it sad?

An ain't it blue?

An ain't it blue?

An ain't it sad?

An ain't it sad?

An' ain't it blue?

An' ain't it poor?


Sad like the loneliness of the silent battlefield,

When you're all alone and there's no one by your side.

Sad as the earth that runs with red,

A red, oozing and sticky, tide.


Blue like the oceans of tears shed for the fallen,

Bringing fresh grief as sharp as a thorn.

Blue like the muted and somber sky,

Where even the angels mourn.


Decorated with medals worth thirty thousand,

Dressing in greens and browns and grays,

Living our lives with no purpose,

Everything's just a glaze.


Now ain't it sad?

An ain't it blue?

An ain't it blue?

An ain't it sad?

An ain't it sad?

An' ain't it blue?

An' ain't it poor?


Errol Murphie is a real 18-year-old killed in Afghanistan in 2013.