This is the sixth page of my poems.  
Please note this material is copywrited.  
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  Thank you.
  Harry H. Smith

Oh, say can you see,
In this dismal light;
What so proudly we hail,
It's our scars and their stripes.

After the bombs' bursting
And the rockets' red glare,
There was proof thru so many nights,
That our country wasn't there.

Woe to those who gave it all
And those still weathering the strife;
Sadly, all this country will ever know,
Is our scars and their stripes.

A young man with pliable mind
	Is what they seek to find.
To bend, To shape, To train,
	To program the naive brain.

They establish their values in
	Multitudes of young men.
Then send them off to fight
	For what they're told is right.

Our youth is used and abused,
	The manufacturers are amused.
Back pockets bulged and gaped,
	Patriotism exploited and raped.

And now the anger within
	Cripples yet more of our men.
The wounds you can not see,
	Promising lives never meant to be.

It was the American way,
	Our call to Honor and Glory;
But when the shit hit the fan
	It was a totally different story.

It sure as hell was no vacation
	With the bombin' and shootin' and
doings;
It didn't take a genius to figure out,
	Who was really taking the screwings.

The whole damn thing was chaotic,
	You've never seen such a mess;
I wasn't fighting for my country,
	I was fighting to save my ass.

Now you may take a dim view,
	Of my not-so-American way;
But you can cram the apple pie
	And piss on the Chevrolet.