In a cell within his mind,
In a prison made of sand,
With some boots on his feet,
And a rifle in his hand,
Stands a boy we all know, but wouldn't recognize anymore.

So freaked out, so tweaked out,
On his regiment of pills,
Reliving everyday,
How his buddies all got killed.
And god bless America is the last thing on his mind,
And he tries and he cries, but there's just no hope left to find.

Up late, filled with hate,
For his country and himself,
With a bottle in his hand,
He pulls those pills down from the shelf,
I'm finally gonna do this, he shudders then he drinks.

So he makes his last confessions,
And find's solace in thoughts,
And now the little boy who left home,
Is returning in a box.
Tell everyone I love them,
Is all that the note read,
And they cry and they cry, but,
Still their little boy is dead.