written for a highschool friend who lost his life fighting in Iraq
Young, he walked the line to Pomp and Circumstance
into the smokey future.
Opportunity knocked at his door, the wood cracked
Georgia called him south, the peach bruised
But his heart led him elsewhere
Into a land raped by war, torn by anger and hate
Innocence, his eyes saw only twenty years
of love, of hope, of family, of friends, of God.
I called him into a life of loneliness, of emptiness
Aged, he walked the front line with
the few, the proud
for me.
Vitality, his strength began mightily
but the smoke weakened his hold.
He wanted to go home. His legs couldn't move.
My life, my future, my freedom
formed chains around his ankles
Three days.
He is home, he walks the silver-lined skies
Back into the love, the hope, the family, the friends, God.
My chains fall from his ankles, he's free.
