there's more than one kind of soldier and more than one type of battle
We fought in black and white, but we died in color.
It seemed clearly right from wrong, so why do we suffer?
We walked with the bodies and embraced their spirit.
We’re sure they’re talking to us but, we just can’t hear it.
When we were with friends, we knew where we belonged.
We knew who we were and all the words to our song.
When we were in a battle and the battle was long.
We just covered our sixes and knew we stayed strong.
They say the last battle is always the worst.
It’s the one that costs the most and the one that hurts.
You know everyone’s lost because you saw them go down.
Yet, you’re still breathing and broken, six-feet above ground.
We don’t get respect because we didn’t leave our neighborhood.
Some say we weren’t brave because of where we stood.
Our enemies know better and full respect goes to them.
We were fighting a necessary battle that no one of value could win.
Sometimes, we feel our life is no longer our own.
We’re on an unknown path and don’t know where we’re going.
We swerve to the left and we turn to the right.
We live on in color, but we fought in black and white.