I’m waking up and staring out; it’s kinda hard to seenI’m thinking back to growing up in Tupelo, MississippinI first left home when I was twenty and still really greennSent me off to Camp Pendleton to become a MarinennI have a wife and child, who just turned five, this weeknI miss him, so I can’t believe that he can really speaknI wrote my wife once every week so she could hear the newsnShe wrote me back once every day to clear away the bluesnnThey trained me well, I made the cut; they couldn’t make me crynI shined my boots and cleaned my gun and shouted, “Simplify!”nI made some friends and shared some fun, they caught a little flacknWith a swagger and a prayer we flew into IraqnWith a swagger and a prayer we flew into IraqnnSometimes at night I wonder what I’m doing in this placenIt’s hard to sleep; there’s too much noise, I’m afraid I’ll fall from gracenMy CO says, “Don’t worry, son. Just keep up the pacenI’m glad you’re in my platoon; you’ve got a street fighters’ facenI’m glad you’re with me, son; you’ve got a street fighters’ face”nnThe man said, “Mission Accomplished” on TV; we’d won the warnWe celebrated a new life; we opened a new doornWe danced a bit, and drank some beers, and then we drank some morenFor once I finally fell asleep; I passed out on the floornnFor weeks we cruised the streets; they said that we were not donenThe sun’s so hot, my clothes are wet; we’re always on the runnWe cruise Felusia in our jeep; just me and my three friendsnA roadside bomb blew us to hell and made the metal bendnnI woke up in Bethesda on a hospital bednThey finally broke the news to me that all my friends are deadnMy legs are gone and I can’t feel a thing on my facenMan, I don’t even look like me; a monster took my placennSometimes at night I wonder what I’m doing in this placenIt’s hard to sleep; there’s too much noise, I think I fell from gracenMy CO says, “Don’t worry, son. Just keep up the pacenI’m glad you’re in my platoon; you’ve got a street fighters’ facenYeah, you served your country well with your street fighters’ face”nnWell, my wife don’t come around much; she found a new mannAnd I don’t really blame her; I don’t feel I’m worth a damnnAnd I stay in most nights with a bottle to wind downnSometimes I try to smile, but mostly I just frownnnMy son’s half grown up now; he visits me sometimesnWe share some stories and some drinks; I usually end up cryingnHe pushes me in my wheelchair outside for a walknWhen people see my face they always turn away in shocknnI wonder what we fought for and if it was a lienI pray to God for my dead friends; I still say, “Simplify!”nI wish that I could just go back, or somehow hit a racenIt’s just me all alone with my street fighters’ facennSometimes at night I wonder what I’m doing in this placenIt’s hard to sleep; there’s too much noise, I think I fell from gracenMy CO says, “Don’t worry, son. Just keep up the pacenI’m glad you’re in my platoon; you’ve got a street fighters’ facenYeah, you served your country well with your street fighters’ face”nnI’m waking up and staring out; it’s kinda hard to seenI’m thinking back to growing up in Tupelo, Mississippin