There was no note but if there was, it might have said:
Forgive me for the things I've done,
things there's no forgiveness for.
The things I've heard the things I've seen
the things I've said have been so mean
But now the men I've killed won't haunt my dreams no more
In the jungles there's no why, no right or wrong just kill or die,
And a lot of men, a lot of friends died right next to me
But you can't blame Charlie for that crime
'cause you don't blame me for mine,
After all, he was under orders just like me
Father husband brother son in Charlie's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and won, when you're playing the war game
I didn't come home to be spit on, to be told that I was wrong,
I didn't come home to confront an angry mob
I just wanted to be with my wife, to try to start a brand new life,
as it turns out I didn't come home to a job
I raised my daughters the best I could, I did what I thought fathers should,
but I'm still not sure that I spent enough time
Because I could not let them feel my pain, could not let them share my shame,
once a week as I stood in that line
Father husband brother son in Uncle Sam's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and won, when you're playing the war game
So I went back to the church, to try to heal decades of hurt,
I didn't think that God would want me after all this time
But the brothers made me secure, made me feel almost pure,
until I felt God was back on my side
And so this one last thing I do, I don't do it to hurt you,
it's an exercise of my faith
So please, pray for me, pray the lord my soul to keep,
because I'm off, I'm off to a better place
Father husband brother son in God's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and saved, when you're playing the war game
When you're playing the war game, it's not a game, it's just a shame,
a shame to think, to think grown men would act that way
When other men are just marks on a map or page or charts,
they don't even know our names
And just a telegram or note is all they send, always by rote,
to let our families know that we've died
We're not numbers, can't you see, not survivors and casualties,
we're human beings with a life --
Father husband brother son in war's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and gone, when you're playing the war game
There was no note but if there was, it might have said:
Forgive me
Forgive me for the things I've done,
things there's no forgiveness for.
The things I've heard the things I've seen
the things I've said have been so mean
But now the men I've killed won't haunt my dreams no more
In the jungles there's no why, no right or wrong just kill or die,
And a lot of men, a lot of friends died right next to me
But you can't blame Charlie for that crime
'cause you don't blame me for mine,
After all, he was under orders just like me
Father husband brother son in Charlie's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and won, when you're playing the war game
I didn't come home to be spit on, to be told that I was wrong,
I didn't come home to confront an angry mob
I just wanted to be with my wife, to try to start a brand new life,
as it turns out I didn't come home to a job
I raised my daughters the best I could, I did what I thought fathers should,
but I'm still not sure that I spent enough time
Because I could not let them feel my pain, could not let them share my shame,
once a week as I stood in that line
Father husband brother son in Uncle Sam's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and won, when you're playing the war game
So I went back to the church, to try to heal decades of hurt,
I didn't think that God would want me after all this time
But the brothers made me secure, made me feel almost pure,
until I felt God was back on my side
And so this one last thing I do, I don't do it to hurt you,
it's an exercise of my faith
So please, pray for me, pray the lord my soul to keep,
because I'm off, I'm off to a better place
Father husband brother son in God's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and saved, when you're playing the war game
When you're playing the war game, it's not a game, it's just a shame,
a shame to think, to think grown men would act that way
When other men are just marks on a map or page or charts,
they don't even know our names
And just a telegram or note is all they send, always by rote,
to let our families know that we've died
We're not numbers, can't you see, not survivors and casualties,
we're human beings with a life --
Father husband brother son in war's eyes we're all the same,
in columns lost and gone, when you're playing the war game
There was no note but if there was, it might have said:
Forgive me
envoyé par Riccardo Venturi - 27/3/2005 - 14:26
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