The smoke rises up from a fresh Lucky Strike,

The barrels are cooling, the silence is like

A heavy gray blanket that covers the mud,

Where the rain washes out all the sweat and the blood.

I look at your boots, they are dry and torn through,

Your cheap body armor could not rescue you.

No rations in pockets, just one piece of lead,

And a handful of local, old, hard-crusted bread.

You gave them your sugar, your cans, and your meat,

Just to get this dry crust from the folks on the street.

Chorus

You fought for your flag, and I fought for mine,

Two ghosts in the dirt on a broken front line.

You gave them your loyalty, whole and sincere,

To the suits in the towers who never come here.

Yeah, you were a good man, I see it right through,

But the kings that we bleed for... don't deserve men like you.

Verse 2

And I do the same for the bosses back home,

Who count up their billions while we rot alone.