The Fight

Why must our boys fight the wars.
Suits sitting by mumbling bores.
Young soldiers crying out.
Mothers waiting up at night.
Sick and tired from all the doubt.
Men in power dripping oil.
From our boys grueling toil.
Do them justice; waving flags
Old men brag; my hearts in pieces.
Twenty home; Ten in bags.
End must come to men in suits.
Make them all lick my boots.

– Doc