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I've played a lot of roles in life. I've met a lot of men. I've done some things, I'd like to think, I wouldn't do again. And though I'm young, I'm old enough, to know some day I'll die, and to think about what lies beyond; beside whom I will lie. Perhaps it doesn't matter much. Still, if I had my choice. I'd want a grave 'mongst sailors when, At last, death quells my voice. I'm sick of the hypocrisy Of lectures of the wise. I'll take the man, with all the flaws, Who goes through scared, and dies. The troops I knew were commonplace. They didn't want the war. They fought because their father and Their fathers had before. They cursed and killed and wept, God knows. They're easy to deride. But, bury me with men like these; They faced the guns and died. It's funny, when you think of it, The way we got along. We'd come from different worlds, To live in one where no one belongs. I didn't even like them all; I'm sure they'd all agree. Yet, I would give my life for them, I know some did for me. So, bury me with Sailors, please. Though much maligned they be. Yes, bury me with Sailors, For I miss their company. We'll not soon see their likes, again; We've had our fill of war. But, bury me with men like them, Till someone else does more. Author Unknown
Revised: Sunday, May 12, 2002 |
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