There are few moments when I believe in god.
Not necessarily because of moments of piety.
But right when I hear a remote jet sound of those
Big Ugly Fat *******, eight engines a piece
I realize god’s fury becomes a reality.

The BUFFs finally reach their prey
And I hear someone yell
“Boy today sure is the day!”
As we hide our heads in the bunkers
The ****** ground quivers and shivers

If I had looked up into the mighty blast
I would have seen the scorched red earth
Scarred deeply with the big ***** of fire
But the sounds and trembles are enough for me
Because what needed to be scarred was the ground, not me

The blasting jet thunder and the deadly steel rain
Should be enough to blow away Charlie
The concussions alone would waste them
So we’ve all thought
Only to be proven wrong the next day by the NVA

I sometimes dream of driving my Camaro back home
Because it reminds me of what’s left in my soul
So I tried to talk with my best buddy Jim McCole
But as I glance into his head with a ******* hole
I realize once again this is hell with no parole

There exists gold, that glitters, and shines.
But we should always remember that it's no different from any other metal.

We try to cover ourselves with gold, which most of us just yearn, but cannot achieve, even it's no important than a dying flower's petal.

People think they shine with gold, like they will never flounder in any other fold, which is thought to be a hold.

They think they'll be remembered, by the flock of others, which they don't care if they're red or silver, or gold, as a whole.

But they themselves, as the adverse they have thought, they are nor recalled or aroused.

It's the gold that covers the places where the gold has rusted, where they have ever existed. However, no single individual will ever remember the fallen gold, even if they are a member, of the gold.

The gold that showed great luster that has glared through the light, now is forgotten, even by the old.
Will never recover, from its own bluster.