Kissin’ Pictures

In a place Satan wouldn't call home
where the sun's bleached life from the earth
we wage war for a people too lost to fight for their own
shoot their enemies, not their friends,
then leave work and go home.
So here I sit, in camies and sweat,
a gun in my hands and home in my head,
sand in my boots, grenades in my belt
and a prayer book upon my chest
with a picture of you and I kissing in the dark.
When every soldier pretends they're alone
so they can go and dream of home
laughing and loving those loved ones, dear,
who should be who they're fighting for.