Monday, January 28, 2008

Words from Babylon

Goldfish in the room.
Moon rising on the Gulf,
I'll call him Falafel

Black and white,
Burkka and dish dash.
Holding hands, just barely,
walking under the palms.
Girls in bikinis.

Boom, boom, boom!
the sound shakes my chest,
My heart and my soul
Breaking my dreams.
No sleep now,
Only prayers.
Boom, Boom, Boom!
A broken dream
A waking nightmare
Say a prayer,
Try to sleep,
It's war.
Boom, Boom, Boom!

They shot at me - Motherfuckers.
Who are they, to shoot at me?
I got no gun, just a camera.
I just shoot pictures, that's all.

Blackhawks touch and go -
Dropping off,
picking up,
good men and women,
in a nonlinear war.
You can't see who's shooting at you,
how do you shoot back?

What the hell?!
Who could live here?
Boom, boom.....boom
Car bombs and mortars,
Every single day.
The earth opened up,
Hell crawled out,
And made a new home -

In a war zone.
Blackhawks overhead.
Incoming round.
Under razor wire.
In Baghdad.

Ice cream and gunfire,
Sitting on the palace veranda,
Incoming rounds,
laughter and moonlight.
Sharing war stories,
making new friends,
Welcome to Baghdad.

A heavy backpack,
and battle rattle.
Gravity sucks.

The Earth split open,
hell's vomit spewed out,
someplace called Tazi, Iraq.

Where is God,
in the heart of Babylon?
What have we done?
There are no answers here,
only madness and chaos.
There is no Peace here,
only despair and fear.
Where is God?

The sands of Tikrit,
driven by the desert wind,
darkens all the stars.

and their battle rattle,
board a plane to nowhere,
to fight a hidden enemy.
They don't ask why,
they just do.
that's what soldiers do.
God bless them,
every one.

Flying out over Babylon
in our war machine
The Tigris slides away,
and the sun sets,
on the ancient mountains,
of Babylon.
Flying into the night again,
into the next chapter of,
our war stories.
We soar,
higher than eagles,
closer to heaven.
Far above,
the Hell below.

The powder sand rises,
as the boots fall.
Hopes rise, then fall,
dreams rise, then shatter.
A soldier walks across a foreign land
to bury a fallen comrade.
A unit stands at attention,
a flag at half-staff,
a red-brown dust cloud,
swallows soldiers,
as they stand at attention.
They remember,
one of their own.
Why did it happen?
They have to ask themselves,
why was it him,
and not one of them?

Waiting to get there,
Waiting for the Chinook,
Waiting for the interview,
Waiting for a ride to nowhere,
Waiting for a bed,
Waiting for dinner,
Waiting for a shower,
Waiting for a C-130,
Waiting to walk to chow,
Waiting for my passport,
Waiting on the terminal floor,
Waiting for a Chinook,
Waiting, still waiting,
It seems like I have been waiting,
Waiting forever.

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