If he comes back I know just what he'll say: "Let's show this day a proper night and
celebrate!" Long gone the weeks of white lines and punctured veins. The day all generations
cried, "Sign em up! Sign em up! Sign em up! Boy, we're gonna make a man outta you."
"Line me up! Line em up! Line em up! Man, now we're gonna make a ghost of you." He came
back, but he wasn't the same. Sleep showed him nights lit like the day, and life for the take.
I caught him in the morning pulling sandbags from the drain while his imagination
shouted, "Sign em up! Sign em up! Sign em up!
Boy, we're gonna make a man outta you."
"Line em up! Line em up! Line em up! Man, now we're gonna make a ghost of you." Remember
when we played Wounded Soldiers? Broken glass and half empty bottles dying fast.
We stayed awake till it was yesterday and long past. But he never really escaped wounded
soldiers, broken glass, and half empty bottles dying fast.
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