Little boy Billy was sent far away

To a country of Germans and bombs and dismay.

He lived in a haze as he traveled through time

And he thought about death as I think about rhyme.

A rhyme is in passing, a glanced over sound.

Death is a moment, only once found.

Why should you mourn a life when it’s froze?

The person still lives; I say “So it goes.”

Where is the honor in killing a man?

There is no honor, I say.

Where is the honor in saving a man?

At what cost, if I may?

But could a dog be purer than man?

It lives as animals must.

And when it goes to bite your hand?

I’m sure its actions are just.

When the pilgrim’s asked who’s killed him,

What do you know to say?

Curiosity killed the cat;

The pilgrim died this way.

The crying fits, the “ups and downs,”

The marching army’s feet.

A drum of death, a toll of pain,

The struggle’s constant beat.

He couldn’t swim. He faced a jump,

The water at his feet.

A drum of death, a toll of pain,

The struggle’s constant beat.

Hear the snap of dog tags

As they’re broke in two.

Next the crackle of candles

Sparking far from you.

The holes across your vest—

No… Did one hit true?

Quick, you check yourself,

But the chase is never through.

And the size of your vest…

How old are you?

Fifteen?!

No, it can’t be true.

Men fight wars,

I’ve always been told.

Not innocent babies;

Your years are un-old.

I’m Cinderella! Look, the shoe fits.

I can hold a gun, I’ve got the wits!

Wits? War is luck. So is life.

It’s all children and syrup lollipops,

Until one day the moon hits the sky.

Then 135,000 people die.

“If you’re ever in Cody, Wyoming, just ask for Wild Bob!”