I was down at the  legion
Knocking back one or two
When in walked an old member
Who fought in World War Two

I got in line behind him
And when he ordered  his brew
I made a signal to the barkeep
I paid for his  too

He turned and said  thank you
I'm on a pension as a vet
1100 dollars monthly
Is all the cash I get

I said to him "no, thank you"
I'm happy to buy your beer
I owe a lot to you
I owe you all that I hold dear

He said to me "t'was nothing"
"you would do the same"
"And I'd do it again"
"If the call ever came"

He looked round the room
And he sipped at his beer
Then he leaned in real close
So just I could hear

"Son, I'll be honest"
"And I don't make no bones'
"The kids of today"
"They just ain't got the stones"

"The stones to step forward"
"To get up and fight"
"To defend flag and country"
"To do what is right"

I said, in most cases
He'd hit the nail on the head
It's a battle at worst
To get a kid out of bed

The times are a'changing
It was different back then
It took a lot less
To turn boys into men

"A soldier's a cowboy
He's one for the books
There's not many in here
I can tell with one look"

"I just did my duty
No less and no more
War isn't a game
Where someone keeps score"

He sat back and his eyes closed
Said "the next one's on me"
"I don't drink that  much
But, at most I have three"

I accepted his offer
And we talked a bit more
We talked baseball, and race cars
But not of the war

That was the past
And the past is long dead
Except for the pictures
He has in his head

I went up to the bar
And I set up an account
I would cover his tab
To a certain amount

What he did for our country
And what he did for me
Is worth a couple of beer
Or at least, each day....three

The gagged voices
scuttling about,
in my living room they attempt to bicker.
The dim light flickers.
A shadow darts through them.
I carry on sleeping.

The voices open up,
traces of asylums fill in the gaps,
a trace of darkness grasps and
cloaks at life.

Desperately I fight for rest,
the asylum morphs
into a public square.

The voices start screaming,
skeletons dancing,
I run downstairs to find
shattered christmas tree ortements.
The shattered pieces form more beauty than
the ortements ever could have.

The skeletons impossibly loud, up in smoke
laughing watching me
mumbled gibberish,
to some and me
until I hear my voice in chorus.

It was a Saturday afternoon
The legion branch was full
The band was playing some old twangy country song
The front four tables were singing along
Up at the bar
A steady line up of Nevada players
hoping for another jackpot
to cover another few beers
And to make the afternoon last
Nothing worse, than having to milk
a weak draft for an hour
Until the men came back from horseshoes
About three o'clock
the branch livened up as Jimi McGonagle arrived
grandson of the past president
and general all about me, *******
He was strutting around
showing off his new tattoo
No different than his other
thirty or so, but it was new
and it was Jimi McGonagle
so everyone wanted to see
He was proud he now had eight peacocks
All up one leg....there's a joke here
But, even I won't go that far....
The crowd swarmed around him
But, in the back corner
The table....I mean THE TABLE...
didn't move a muscle
In fact out of the three individuals at THE TABLE
Two continued with their dart game
while the third just chuckled, let out a loud
HARUMPH
and went back to his screwdriver
with the quickly melting ice cubes
famous at all legions for helping water down the drinks
Jimi, heard the HARUMPH and looked back
The old man took a slug from the glass
and HARUMPHED louder
Jimi, perplexed, came over to see what was the matter
"Don't like my tattoos Mr. Stein?"
HARUMPH..."they're fine, if you like that kind of thing"
said the old man, knocking back his glass again
"Gives me eight peacocks on my leg now" said Jimi
Again, no response from me on the possible joke here
"cost me almost $700 bucks to get this one done"
"HARUMPH" said the old man....
"What is wrong with you Mr. Stein?"
"Don't like it?"
"Like I said...."
"I know, I know"....said Jimi
"Got any ink?" asked Jimi
"Yep" answered the old man, as a fresh glass arrived
He took a slug...
"So?"...said Jimi, "Is it any better than my peacock?..
"Maybe..maybe not"...said the old man
"It just depends"
The crowd had moved away and was dropping back to the bar area
"Can I see it?" asked Jimi..."What is it?"
"'tain't much to speak of...but I'll show you"....
"Just quit strutting around and sit....and I'll have another screwdriver"...
Jimi sat, and the old man looked him in the eye
"Don't have much colour, like your'n do...don't have any at all"...
"But, a tat's a tat, and you want to see it"...."You sure?"
Jimi nodded, ordered the drink for the old man
"HARUMPH"...said Mr. Stein
He unbuttoned his shirt cuff on the left side
and rolled it up, with his big, beefy, work worn hands
"There she be" he said
"Where", said Jimi
"There'n, on my wrist....just there"
"All I see is a number, an old, worn number"
"That'd be her" said Mr. Stein...."It's all I got, and it's all I need"
"What is it?" asked Jimi
"It's who I am...who I was reduced to"
"It's my curse, and my strength"...
"I was 17 when I got this in Hammelburg, Germany"....
"It was 1943 and we were rounded up"
"and sent to the camps...we were some of the last jews"
"they missed us in the first go round"
"gave me this...don't need another one"
"It's me...this number....it's me"
"Yours are nice...colourful....but are they you?"
"Mine is me"...
"You can see...I have ink....only one....don't want anymore"
"Can I sit a while?" asked Jimi
"Sure, son"...."you can tell me 'bout them silly peacocks"
"Bartender....two screwdrivers"
...and so developed a new and deep friendship....

I killed a man once,
From his head.
I killed him slowly,
From his bed.

My name is...

He awoke,
With a start,
Clutching tight,
His aching heart.
In his ears,
He heard us sing,
Soft melodies,
Of dying.
He scraped the wall,
Until he bled.
Through the door,
He quickly fled.
We followed him,
In the shade,
In silence,
In wait we laid.

Our name is...

Through the town,
Babbling mad,
The man stumbled,
Truly sad.
We made him feel,
A pain so true,
Born from night,
And sorrows new.
We drove him down,
To the farming place,
Where he strangled them,
With wire-lace.
But then the lamb,
Came along,
Not so innocent,
But tall and strong.
"Speak thy name,"
The usurper spake,
And with his wave,
Our will did break.
"Before I silence thee,
And end thy game,
I ask once more.
What is your name?"

My name is...
Our name is...
My name is Legion,
For we are many.