I never heard the bullet call my name
I never felt the sunlight wash my face
I never heard my newborn baby's cry
I never saw her cradle when I died.

No one told me war was just a game
(they said I was a warrior- I was not)
that old men play with us, like we are toys
(they said I was a hero- I was not.)

Tell them to go and press my clean fatigues
and put my golden chevrons on my sleeves.
Tell my honor guard to have a care
for those who cannot know what soldiers bear.

Battlefields reveal the ways of war-
the bayonet impaled within a womb,
the scorching of the flesh that was a man-
rubble, piles and piles, an endless tomb.

If those who have a care for me and mine
may wish to say some words I'll never hear-
tell them, go away, and leave me be.
Tell them, mud and blood belong to me.