the war tells a story,
its like peeling layers of  onion,
each layer have its painful memory,
we walk through Saigon swamp,
and its cities filled with  hatred,
i traveled from america,
hearts fill with pride,
when i got through Vietnam,
i felt alone,
some felt all messed up,
we all didn't have a clue what we doing,
all we told to ****.

when we gather with all our weapons held high,
its like the age of golden eras,
where men would wear armor,
then we storm the battlefield,
some say this war is for our families,
and others too naive say  we fight for freedom
of whatever  cause we don't know
we sprayed lots of bullet for money.

we build walls to save lives,
but we purge it instead saving,
sometimes i think outside the wall
beyond the jungle ,
and the ninh river,
all i ever think is back home,

my boy is 12 now,
i miss his 12th year birthday,
i was out to fight the *****,
but their freedom wasn't theirs,
it was ours,
we didn't have a clue who we fight for.

i was laid as a skinhead on us,
born in bald hair with sealed uniform,
that looks like we going to war,
arrived in vietnam,
was shocked to see all these innocent died,
for freedom that we don't earn,
it's theirs and its there to stay,
as i grew up around the war,
i learn how to l be human.