They'll shoot me in the morning,
for leaving my **** post;
by the time you get this letter,
I'll probably be a ghost.
Didn't want this ******* war,
stabbed the dummy and yelled "****!";
not my idea of passing time,
not my usual kind of thrill.
I'm a pacifist at heart,
learned my lessons the hard way;
now my Uncle Sam,
requires me to stay.
But I said, no, not going to,
I hopped he Greyhound Bus;
said good riddance to it all,
now, what's the ******* fuss?
A simple parting of the ways,
is all that I desire;
I got burned by Army brats,
got too close to the **** fire.
They'll shoot me in the morning,
with a blindfold... or without;
this poem's my legacy,
the last and final shout!