Release

Tucked in silence, you pray for home.
All but man, you stand alone.
You’re in the water, wet and cold,
and you think to yourself “I was never as bold.”

The wind has stirred, the heavens sing,
And you see the bird—it’s broken wing.
The day is done, but you have to have "fun".
It’s Lucifer’s song, yet one well sung.

You wander through the water and rice,
Secretly dreading the cold, dark nights.
For that’s when they come; not to be nice.
Their only purpose is to steal your light.

It’s cammies and paint, and the smell of death.
You don’t want to faint, to take the last breath.
And all this time you wonder why
He won't let you get up and fly.

As you’re sitting alone you start to wish
For anything,
Anything,
to get you through this.

And then you ask Him,
where, in safety He dwells,
Why it is that Satan’s bell
Is the one that sends all men to hell.

Death’s phone
is frequently rung -
Maybe for want,
maybe for fun.

You know -
No -
you don’t -
But to kill a man, you certainly won't.

That was a year ago, and time has passed;
And nothing could prepare you for this deadly blast.
It’s not right.
It’s all wrong -
Wandering through this dead men’s throng.

In a week or two you will be free.
But He has decided it’s not to be.
Blank and cold, but dressed up nice,
You have finally left that horrible life.