Writing Type: Poem
Who is that so far away,
With a gun in his hand every day?
He fights and he toils
For our President's oiL
But the price is too high for his life,
For who will comfort his kids and his wife?
When he dies from a bomb,
In the land of Saddam,
Is that what we believe to be true?
To trade soldiers' blood for the wealth of a few?
And a flag and salute,
For the blood left on his boots?
And the empty hearts left crying alone.
Come on Bush, bring our soldiers home.