pins and needles
twins and tweedle dees
and dumbs, placing pain
in tainted two ton drums
painting propaganda, and fun
on the tanks of rum.

Drunk and drinking
Shrunk and shrinking,
out of mind, and in the trunk
thinking, linking on his bunk
feircley feeling a full moon's funk
the whole platoon has lost its spunk
the loon's have fled the fool's still drunk
the rules have trapped these tools
Clunk stolen jewels in his trunk
his hands a rosey red sunk
into the heart of a monk
burma to Baghdad
a dunk into death
a demon on his
breath. Control,
an illusion he's
had, that lead
to death, he
knows his
fate; and
excelerates
it. too late.
an addiction
ended a bloated
belly distended
a trap for dissidents
who could have helped
end it. suicide to some
murder on an invisible
plane, dimensions
that bring one to
insane.
soldier karma
to help straitforward, and plain;
shoot at the blackwater train mercenaries.
or be the beautiful martyr; go out in
style hold 2 gernades, create a
bloody blackwater(or dick cheney) dog pile
society's a hard cokkie to crumble
you've seen the vietnam vets
still tumbling with demons
now transmuted from violence
to dimentia, and screamin
schizophrenia dreamin,
teaming, steaming
tangled in karma.
to facilitate fate
is to except it,
an american?
dont call yourself
that identify with what you love
your soul, your state even
dont sleep in the american dream
now filled with nightmares and
innocent screams, run off to
Burma defend a monk
your on the path to
suicide if you stay
in your bunk,
iraq is the slaughterhouse
where george bush sends his
junk. his boss has better tools a soldier, (or Sheeple)
not a loss, for him; but the american people.