by Scott J.
They killed my brother, my father and my son,
And I will not stop until my work is done,
I will shoot, shoot all them commies dead,
Or am I just loose in the head?
The field hospital mountebanks, they let me in,
They say don’t worry, your stay here will be pleasant and short,
But when I look around, all I see,
Are 200,000 broken brothers staring back at me.
Men are praying in the corners to their gods,
Me, I’m just sitting watching men pile up like logs,
I sit back, and think about the events that went down in Shiloh,
And wonder if I’ll ever have anywhere else to go.
Dysentery runs rampant through the halls,
Bugs infest our lunch, and climb on all the walls,
Suddenly, all this moaning and groaning has made me loose my appetite,
My papa said war was awful, and I’m beginning to think he’s right.
And now they’re cutting off things I thought I’d need to use,
There’s blood spilling everywhere, and they’re telling me to choose,
They say do I want it cut off, or left there, a hotbed for disease,
Now I don’t really care, I just want it to be all over,
Please.
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