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Can’t forget the memories Cant forget the cries Cant forget the look of death In my brothers vacant eyes Each footstep upon the bloodied soil Crushing spent brass beneath our feet Sandbags leaking, no one speaking Victorious in defeat The Identity of men hung on beaded chains Clicked and rattled like dry bones Stripped from life, taken at death The only thing they owned Reality warped, grim smiles of hate Thankful that another sun will rise But the ravages of battle, raped the youth As the whore of war consumed their lives Sweet sounds of Motown bring bitter release Deep in the night we hear the soulful cries But the rhythm was cast upon the dogs of hell Cause with our youth, that's the night the music died... Boondocker4/22/01 Richard D. Preston
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