You wake up
And look to your right,
There's a person sleeping beside
You
look to your left,
Some framed picture of a renegade,
And then you stand,
arms fixed on deserted solitude,
Looking down,
No! never taught to do so,
You sigh
Your military clothes ironed
And a note from Lily,
"Daddy come home"

And then you draw your weapons and throw the whiskey glass on the mirror,
And with blood laden hands, profligately comb your hair.
Daddy said so you murmured with closed eyes,

"Look alive young man,
Look alive."