My mind’s witnessing warring hell
It’s time to ring the bell
There is a time
When enough, is more than enough
When the price, far outweighs the costs
Counting the countless heads, is a needless sum
Moguls perched high upon ivory towers
Swinging full circle in their leather chairs
Crystal glasses full of classic red-wine
From grapes, picked by the walking dead
Fine china cups full of black caviar
From fish, caught by the floating dead
My mind’s witnessing bloody hell
It’s time to ring the bell
There is a time
When the suffering is enough
When the suffering is more than enough
How many heads do the Mogul’s need to roll
Human alley-pins falling into blackboard bins
Buried under centuries of desert lands
Empty hands holding onto sandy winds
The lost children, mankind’s biggest sin
Temporary tents and stretchers their living sty
And still, bullets and bombs whistle by
It was a long march from cadets
The sixth battalion was the next to tour and it was me who drew the card
We did Canungra and Shoalwater before we left
This clipping from the paper shows us young and strong and clean
And there’s me in me slouch hat with me SLR and greens
God help me
I was only nineteen
I’d been in and out of choppers now for months
And we made our tents a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
And an Asian orange sunset through the scrub
And night time’s just a jungle dark and a barking M.16?
And what’s this rash that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
I was only nineteen
It was a war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ’til they had you dusted off
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else
We hooked in there for hours, then a God almighty roar
And Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon
God help me
He was goin’ home in June
On a thirty-six hour rec. leave in Vung Tau
And I can still hear Frankie, lying screaming in the jungle
‘Til the morphine came and killed the bloody row
And the stories that my father told me never seemed quite real
I caught some pieces in my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
I was only nineteen
And why the Channel Seven chopper chills me to my feet?
And what’s this rash that comes and goes
Can you tell me what it means?
God help me
I was only nineteen
Ivor Steven (c) 2018