The Good Soldier

Ain't it kinda funny
How we do things in this country?
I was five years old
When I held my first gun.

My father told me, "Aim it right,
And pull that trigger tight—
You never know when you'll get the call
To take another man's life;

Now, be a good soldier."

I couldn't wait for the day
That I'd be made to ship away
To some foreign land,
My country to defend.

They said, "You'll be a hero,
Praised everywhere you go;
The whole world round will give a bow
To their saving son;

Now, be a good soldier."

And when I heard the good news,
I grabbed my pack, laced up my boots,
And marched in time
To the sound of war drums.

They said, "You'll fight for freedom;
Now, put your helmet on;
Keep that collar 'round your neck,
So, if you die, we'll know whose side y'were on;

Now, be a good solder."

They told me there was good and bad,
And, to give my life, I should be glad,
To die like a martyr
At barely eighteen.

I never asked questions,
I trusted all their lessons,
I did my very best
To do things right,

And be a good solder.

I followed every order
And command right to a tee;
I put bullet holes in anyone
They called the enemy.

I'll never forget the sound,
The hellish screams as bombs dropped down,
And that tiny shoe
I found in the rubble.

I said, "Cap I think there's something wrong;
Those were civilians we fired upon;
I found this—look—now, it belonged
To a child of barely three.

I thought we were fighting, killing—dying
For liberty and all;
Spent my whole life believing
At my hands evil would fall.

But, with every eye that cowered in fear,
Good and bad became unclear,
And I'm no longer sure
Which side I'm on.

The day that I'll never forget:
When I held my best friend's bleeding head,
And cried, "Why, why?
Why?—

Give me a goddamn answer!
Give me one good reason!
Somebody tell me why, why, why?
What are we fighting for?
'Cause I ain't so sure anymore...

I'd like to know...
I'd like to know...
I'd like to know...
Just what the hell I'm supposed to die for.

No, you won't make a martyr out of me—
Get someone else to do your bidding;
No, you won't make a hero out of me—
I'm not a cog in your war machine.

I am not your soldier.