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The country saw it as a fight worth fighting for,
And when we came back we were labeled heroes of war.
I spent the next six years near the California shore,
Keeping my thoughts locked away in a mental drawer.
Then, one day, our country got involved once more,
Against another enemy rotten to the core.
I couldn’t believe I was fighting in another war,
This time, not so sure what I was fighting for.
I turned thirty years old in the summer of ’54,
One year to the day since the end of the Korean War.
Never again did I want to see all that blood and gore,
But after six years of peace came another country’s war.
Vietnam was a place I’d never heard of before,
Yet, there I was, in the middle of someone else’s war.
I never fully understood what we were there for,
But I never questioned my duty to the Corps.
I spent five years crawling around on the jungle floor,
Trying to settle someone else’s bloody score.
We were losing men by the thousands, yet came thousands more,
Because politicians were in charge from a distant shore.
I got out of Vietnam in the spring of ’64,
And that was the end of my career in the Corps.
My son turned eighteen in the winter of ’84,
Joined the Marines, and moved to the California shore.
I told him to make me a promise and he swore,
To never fight unless he knew what he was fighting for.
I’ve seen enough blood and it’s impossible to ignore,
The fact that war is hell, and hell is going to war.
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