The blood of their brothers seeps into the mud as the steel hawks caw above.
All the while the smell of death in the misty air rises like a black new dawn,
Below they brave the steaming jungles as the rains crush them with brawn.
Back home their farms lay barren and their factories rusted out.
Just as the flower people spit upon the their ignorant clout,
The families think of their sons’ return with disdain and doubt.
The rice paddies reduced to ash as the Marxist snake changes position in the grass,
It waits till just the right moment to strike shattering the men’s dreams like glass.
They drag them to the horror camps like the devil’s slaves in dreaded chains.
Their minds will be poisoned with all the worst traumas,
While their children back home cry in the night for their mamas.
For they feel the pain of their brothers and papas.
Can they return to their homeland as champions of Liberty,
Or will they succumb to the dark side of revisionist history.
For it is those who squander heroes that keep us from victory.