Dear Mr President
Take heed if you can,
And spare me a thought, with my gun in my hand.
As my comrade gets rest, I must cover his back,
I'm the sentry on duty, out here in Iraq.
You know that we've battled the foe with our soul,
That our flag has flown proud, where we've trodden our sole.
That we've honoured our duty, performed the main role,
But with passage of time, it has taken its toll.
You see Mr President; Hussein is now gone,
And for our morale, this was 'sine qua non'.
But expect us to rule, in this other man's land,
Was not the agreement when taking a stand.
We have fought with the courage our country deserved,
Been true to our forebears, saw freedom preserved.
But with three thousand dead and no vision ahead,
It is time, with respect, we were suitably led.
For this bright yellow land, that we've put on remand,
Offers little for soldiers, but death in the sand.
And this blood-stained terrain, that we've fought to maintain,
For the loss of our lives, is a worthless reclaim.
And this war that you speak of, is not what we see,
First casualty of war, is the truth, I must plea.
When we look at the world, through the sights of our guns,
We must seriously question, what's right for our sons.
For the honour and valour, of war that is won,
Is quickly forgotten, by the death of just one.
And one single death, from our own native land,
Is one far too many, for the duty at hand.
And so from my posting in torturous sun,
The searing commitment and sound of the gun.
I ask from my heart, you consider my cry,
My comrades and I: 'do you want us to die?'
We have no wish to honour a colourful wreath,
The bugle's lament, or our coffin's bequeath,
If our bodies are draped, in the flags of our land,
It is more than our loved ones, could hope to withstand.
Dear Mr President
I ask man to man,
Use the power of your office, your chain of command.
Resolve our distress with a wave of your hand,
Get us out of this quicksand, as soon as you can.
Remember the lessons we learned from Vietnam,
We are now all at sea, in this war with Islam,
And all that we ask, is to be welcomed back home,
Or another Vietnam, will be honoured in stone.
Brother in arms.