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Poem
My Interpretation:                             Glenn Hughes Lyric:

In the space of a short span               Mother can you see
the exactitudes that human                I've been tryin' to see you
measure can be achieved if                Cuz the line is free
the powers that be partake                 Now they're tellin' me
within said time of the hour                Stop shakin' like a feather
mind control of its recipient                On the count of three
purposed by the War Dept.

Be a.k.a., War Machine that                 Back in '69
take all known from yonder                 We never learned our lesson
space of a short span, turn                  Down in Vietnam
to short spin of actual news                 I refuse to sign
                                                         It doesn't really matter
calls and worded letters an                  They don't give a damn
urgent warning a nation its
new emperor wears a new                   I don't care what you want
clothes "Hear ye vainglory."                 And I roll with the fear                                                       
                                        
What's here is NOT there,                    You don't hear nothin'
and I am grateful for that                     A sad waste of life
truth, but to spin it in any                     When we go to war
fashion as being anything                     Won't you hear somethin'
but...                                        

NAM undeniably benumb                       Father you cry
death then permeates all                       When we go to war
the patty fields of grains                        What is it for?
of rice guised as desert
grains of sand. Death is                         Brother is that you?
bears out truly that our                         So get a little closer
New Emperor at home                           I can't feel your breath
is as naked as sin can                            We're the chosen few
ever be...                                             Out there in the desert
                                                           There's a smell of death.
Family--Mom, Brother,
Dad, let me be some-
body and not a made
up nobody. I want to
be your Bro. again, I
I want to be your Son
again, I want to be
Glenn Hughes again,
plain Ole American.
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