Rock and Grass
Time to bring them home...
I was thinking sleepily.
After stuffing my face with holiday.
Time to bring those red, white, black, and blue teenagers home...
Time to resume video games-get some strange.
Instead of babysitting rocks on icy Afghan mountaintops.
Numbers for names exchanging blows with rock men.
That play charades with dirty hand grenades...
Sometimes death needs to be left alone.
To sip life from the Teat of misty goats.
To grow rows of golden poppies
Turn our mothers into heroines.
Time to bring them home.
Country Joe asked it long time ago.
"What are we fighting for?"..
A jungle without a soul.
Another 58th parallel. Jam session...
Big-headed devil is dead.
Buried at sea, alongside honorable men,
Spawning for eternity with sea hags.
Time to bring the boys and girls home.
They're dying in droves while Congress is on extended vacation.
Bring them home. So they can cut or whorl in the grass.
Before their limbs and minds are bent.
Let them kiss their puppies that are now fully grown.
Remembering girlfriends. Who moved on one tour of duty ago.
Bring them home; let them tell war stories.
How a tangle of teenagers smoked a local and his lamb... then laughed...
How a green friend slept forever under a red, white and blue fleece.
Then flew home under a flag, atop metal wings.
Time to bring the boys and girls home, forever,
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