Where do I start?... Its taken me over fourty years to write this
Half a bottle of scotch taken each night to drown out the fears the heartrending sights Yeah half a bottle is just about right to dull the dreams and the nightmares that still linger PTSD they call it this day, councelling given to help them get through what they did see, things they did do I remember clearly after such a time being told I wasn't a soldier I wasnt a man for being sick with fear, tears in my eyes at the bloodied remains close to my side. Yeah well I was a soldier but not yet a man, at 19 my life had hardly begun but I still had to survive at the point of a gun Yeah half a bottle of scotch is the crutch I have found because I'm still alive... Not just another name on a hole in the ground thousands of miles from home. Patrolling the paths in the in a land burnt and harsh not knowing what would come, the bullet the bomb or mayber the mine placed or shot by the oft unseen had OK so I still did my bit in spreading the ****.... Yes I've had their blood on my hands but I still regret the things that I did in that harsh barren land. Did I hate them? Those men who killed the ones I called friends. No they were only doing what they thought was right in protecting their home and their lands Yeah so half a bottle of scotch is the friend I now have, it helps to stifle the dreams of the places I saw, the things that I saw and also the things that I did.
Don't check this for litary correctness or punctuation because about them I just dont care. Injust felt its time for you to know the real me