Walkin’ Through the Sewers of Hell

I’d just come home from Vietnam

It was my second tour

Sitting in a bar one night,

 Couldn’t help but overhear...

This kid was talkin’ loud, I guess,

Some girl he may impress...

‘Bout how he’d won some battles

And the hero he’d become,

‘Bout how he’d fought the NVA

And killed the Viet Cong.

Finally I’d had enough

Of this string of lies he told

To make himself sound tough,

To make us think him bold.

I see you’ve watched the news, I said,

You’ve got it all down pat...

You’ve learned to say the names of places,

Like An Khe, Pleiku and Phu Cat,

But there’s a lot that’s missing

 From your pack of lies,

Like the thousand meter stare

 That should be in your eyes.

 You haven’t told of how it was

To cradle the head of a friend,

As his breath takes an eternal pause and then…

 feel his still warm blood

Drip off your fingertips

As it falls into the mud.

You haven't told us how it smells

When napalm burns hair and flesh,

Or the smell of cordite in the air

While the battle's fresh.

Can you tell us 'bout the fear...

 That grips you oh so tight

When you hear the sound of mortar fins

Rip into the night?

I could tell you're not a warrior,

A soldier you've never been

 You’re just a gutless winnable

Tryin' to be something you never can.

Go on, drink your beer

But find another lie to tell,

'cause you’ve never walked in a warrior’s boots...

You’ve never walked... through the sewers of hell.

Al Pike

© Nov 11th 2006