Bobby Cortez was a friend of mine back in the days of old
in the California valley haze when we were ten years old
freely tied together in the way of all best friends
little knowing where we were going or how it would end
Bobby never had a vicious thought within his heart and mind
but the pathways laid for him to follow were different from mine
for him it was the migrant orchards or the hoodlum’s hard design
society’s brutality would quickly make up his mind
all inside of two short years the damage it was done
and I could hardly recognize him for what he had become
the violence of the silence that held him in his place
had made him mean with eyes of fierce defiance in his face
and all his friends were numbered now among the dangerous ones
with razor blades and links of chain and zip guns
urban jungle escapades set fire to the fuel
so when he was old enough he dropped out of school
misfitted for the outside world, at every turn gone wrong
he joined up in the army and they sent him off to Vietnam
a cannon fodder soldier, to the slaughter he was led
and in some frightened foreign jungle caught a bullet in his head
back in school we heard the news and like a dream it came and passed
his name was added to a tombstone that was a gift from the graduating class
given to all of those of us who had fallen to the war
and Bobby Cortez, his name was number four
how many souls are molded by a devious device
to be cast aside beside the bloody road to paradise
to fill the courts and jails till their numbers overflow
they may be among your finest friends if you could only know
in the California valley haze when we were ten years old
freely tied together in the way of all best friends
little knowing where we were going or how it would end
Bobby never had a vicious thought within his heart and mind
but the pathways laid for him to follow were different from mine
for him it was the migrant orchards or the hoodlum’s hard design
society’s brutality would quickly make up his mind
all inside of two short years the damage it was done
and I could hardly recognize him for what he had become
the violence of the silence that held him in his place
had made him mean with eyes of fierce defiance in his face
and all his friends were numbered now among the dangerous ones
with razor blades and links of chain and zip guns
urban jungle escapades set fire to the fuel
so when he was old enough he dropped out of school
misfitted for the outside world, at every turn gone wrong
he joined up in the army and they sent him off to Vietnam
a cannon fodder soldier, to the slaughter he was led
and in some frightened foreign jungle caught a bullet in his head
back in school we heard the news and like a dream it came and passed
his name was added to a tombstone that was a gift from the graduating class
given to all of those of us who had fallen to the war
and Bobby Cortez, his name was number four
how many souls are molded by a devious device
to be cast aside beside the bloody road to paradise
to fill the courts and jails till their numbers overflow
they may be among your finest friends if you could only know
envoyé par Ceil Herman - 12/1/2019 - 22:19
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Album: This Movie Is For Real
The lyrics recall Page's friend from his high school who dropped out of school and was killed in Viet Nam. The tombstone at the school has the names on it of those who fell in the war. Bobby Cortez is number 4 on the list.