Never did you imagine
That the enemy would be so unclear
That the fear would look like you
That the pain would be caused by yourself
Fight, or flight?
The choice is your right
Never did you think
That your weapons would be bitter poison
That your supply lines would be useless
That you would be subject to friendly fire
Fight, or flight?
The choice is your right
Never did you believe
That starving out the enemy meant starving yourself
That when fighting yourself, you'd chose a war of attrition
That you would want to fight, but find yourself unwilling
Fight, or flight?
That choice is your right
Never did you see
That your punch card has a date on it
That your toe tag is already pre-filled
That you're weak, where it counts
Your weapons are misfiring,
and it's too late to resupply.
Your escape route is blocked,
and your holes are too shallow to hide in.
You sit in a pile of your spent ammunition,
Alone on the battlefield.
No resupply is coming,
No more troops will provide relief.
You lie down in the mud,
And still, you shout "Charge!"
Fight, or flight?
You've no longer got the choice.
Comments