I see you've found. A box of my things.
Infantries, tanks, and smoldering airplane wings.
These old pictures are cool tell me some stories.
Was it like the old war movies?
Sit down son, let me fill you in.
Where to begin? Let's start with the end.
These black and white photo don't capture the skin.
From the flash of a gun to a soldier is done.
Trust me grandson the war was in color.
From shipyard to sea.
From factory to sky.
From rivet to rifle.
From bootcamp to battle cry.
I wore the mask up high on a daylight run.
That held my face in it's clammy hand.
Crawled over coconut logs and corpses in the coral sand.
Where to being? Let's start with the end.
This black and white photo don't capture the skin.
From the shock of a shell or the memory of smell.
If red is for hell. The war was in color.
I held the canvas bag over the railing.
The dead released with the ship still sailing.
Out of our hands and into the swallowing seas.
I felt the crossfire stitching up soldiers.
Into a blanket of dead as the night grows colder.
In the window back home a blue star is traded for gold.
Oh where to being? Let's start with the end.