Deep, man-made, man-holes, twisting through the sides of mountains
Black bombs, and black blood, twisting through the veins of my men
Piles of my men, Piles of the Dead.
The honorable sacks of blood and guts,
Stacked Dead on Iwo Jima.
My commander told me upon arriving, words which haunt my soul
If it is indeed more honorable to destroy one’s self,
Then to be destroyed by one’s white enemy,
Then tonight, it’s off to Heaven or Hell I go.
