Rolling Back to Base

    or

Singing Pink Floyd in the Back of a Duece and a Half

In a wonderful world
That smells of burning garbage,
Cordite and viscera,
We’re stuck behind the sight of our weapons.

As the sun starts to settle
Out beyond the edge of the world,
The burden of heat starts to fade
In measure with the light.

The quiet din of a bleak and tired man
Softly rises,
    “So, so you think you can tell…”.

Before he conjures the words
    “Heaven from hell”,
It crescendos wickedly to a full choir
Of cadence-strong voices;
Flippant and cock-sure.


Eyes wide and mean,
We roll through hell
In harmony.


Jubilant, we chime at the top of our voice,
      “How! How I wish you were here!”
We never truly did wish any one
Into our hell.
Only that they knew of us.


For surely we felt forgotten .