.
Young John, eighteen, a vibrant flame,
he saw the army as a game. 
His parents said he had no clue,
there never was a thing more true.
 
Off ships they disembarked, one night, 
the Sarge said “keep your pals in sight,
there’s eyes in trees that will clock you.”
There never was a thing more true.
 
Young  Jorg, eighteen, conscripted, scared,
his elders said (though  they’d been spared,)
“It’s sure to make a man of you.”
There never was a thing more true.
 
They taught him well; just how to kill,  
so he took aim, released his will,
the gun, “precision made for you,”
there never was a thing more true.
 
His friend found John consumed by fear,
now shot in stomach, full of tears;    
he plotted course from battle’s brew,
there never was a thing more true…
 
...But medics could not save our John,
the son, the friend, forever gone,
his wife to be, just left to rue…
There never was a thing more true.
 
He praised his country with last breath,
did that help him after death?
It matters not, your banner’s hue,  
there never was a thing more true.
 
Mortician had the closest shave  
as now the man who dug John’s grave, 
so proudly aimed his spade on cue,
there never was a thing more true.
 
The leader of the war then said
to those who watched him from their beds,  
 “Thank you... he died for me and you.”   
There never was a thing more true.
 
His parents tightly held dog tags,  
that’s all they’re left with, and the flag,
(plus compensation money due.)
There never was a thing more true.
 
Just one more life snuffed out too soon,
while feeding evil’s scheming tune,
and peoples’ greed and anger too,
there never was a thing more true.


.