I
am torn, wasted-worn,
busted-up, so forlorn, bent and duckin'
jungle-creep, it strips me of my needed sleep.

Tears
on tears are fallin' down through
silver-threaded drips of life,
along with weary, weary warrior strife.
Hey friend, got a friend, didn't make it in the end?

Hear
them growlin'
in the grave, under
dirt and over brave, got another
one to save, make the vow the victor made.

Hear
them walkin' in my
dream hear them talkin'
through a scream. Feel another
dear one's dread, got another brother dead.

Cost,
cost, what a
cost, every goddamn
thing is lost. War? War? Got to
fight, got to fight, got to fight a war tonight.

Needs
of soldiers never
met, not by Bush and Cheney yet.
I am ragged, I am tough,
I bleed patriotic blood!

I
roam and rage
around my cage, I'm on a
very sorry stage. I'm filled with mental
incompletes as I go back out on the streets.

I
am a vet
not home quite yet,
and "Charlie's" winning every
bet. A junkie needs a daily fix of
love and smack, a perfect mix, that takes
away the jungle creep and puts his body back to sleep.