Joined: Tue Nov 23, 2004 1:36 am Posts: 5458 Location: Left field
He passed boot camp, a metamorphosis of a man into a jarhead
He sauntered through dunes of golden sand, in a platoon of beige fatigues
He left prints of large boots and wind swept morals in the gold, brown sand
He returned for two weeks, never said a word, and desired to be alone
He was taunted, blacked out, left a body bruised and battered
He was arrested but the law decided to let him go, this is a common occurrence it seems
He returned to the sand again, rifle in hand and black boots strapped tight once again
He is said to have killed a bakers dozen, this from a friend who never raised his fist
He wants to put the rifle in the closet, and let the dust settle on the black boots and
He wants to be a teacher; I want him to be a teacher
_________________ seen it all, not at all can't defend fucked up man take me a for a ride before we leave...
Rise. Life is in motion...
don't it make you smile? don't it make you smile? when the sun don't shine? (shine at all) don't it make you smile?
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