Bombs are flying,
Kids are crying
In a place
That on the face
Is called Vietnam
It's all the same,
Despite it's fame,
Death is Death,
Life's last breath,
Privilege of the damned...
What is it now?
To kill them how?
What will it be?
Him or Me?
Kill the Red!
Let them come!
Drop the Bomb!
And sing this song,
We can't go wrong,
For we'll all be dead!
Karl Stuart Kline
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/3-26-the-end-result-january-1971/
