And in the light <br />of dying day <br />your voice grew <br />strong <br />and boastful <br />as you showed me <br />your <br />celluloid past <br />pointing them out <br />One by One <br />telling me names <br />and dirty deeds done <br />and secrets shared <br />of <br />severed heads <br />landmine limbs <br />in treetops <br />and dried human ear <br />in key-ring <br />We raised our cups of whiskey <br />to abject adolescent atrocities <br />and <br />to you making it <br />out alive <br />when so many <br />armed lives for hire <br />hadn't <br /> <br />I took one <br />last long look <br /> <br />A group of grinning <br />boys in fatigues <br />posing <br />with guns <br />for the camera <br />who ALL <br />came back as <br />different <br />men<br /><br />Carsten Thomsen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-cab-drivers-confessions/
