They say he went there to fight for our country,
To live free, speak what we may.
That's not a consolation
When you know your friend could die any day.
So don't tell me to be proud,
Or that it's for the “best”
When I know he could be eighteen
And prematurely “laid to rest”.
I don't want to see pictures
Of a little boy holding a gun.
Could you imagine being a mother
And that being your son?
Watching the news and seeing
The death toll increasing,
And despite men lost,
Violence not ceasing!
I can't be proud, I'm far too scared.
My childhood friend can't survive out there,
And I can't sleep with the knowledge
He could be bleeding to death somewhere.
Come back, please, you can't hurt me like this.
We don't need boys to fight.
The only thing that could possibly matter
Is knowing that he's okay at night.
But others look down on my views.
Calling me selfish because I care?
I go to sleep with an uncertain mind,
And another horrible nightmare.
As I wake up, traitorously I think
I don't want free speech,
Or constitutions and democracy
I want you, within reach.
Stop saying it's for the best...
Every time an eighteen year old solider
Is laid to rest.