You wanted me to be a hero and go off to win the war.
You wanted me to be a hero, but you didn't know what for.
So I became a hero, and now I'm rolling through the door,
'cause this heroes got no arms or legs no more.

You wanted me to be a hero and do what heroes do.
You wanted me to stand up for the old Red, White and Blue.
Well now I'll do no standing, and my mind is wasted, too.
And with the drugs I'm taking I can't think of you.

You planned on all the money that I'd get from Uncle Sam.
That we'd get a set of wheels to let folks know that I'm the man.
Now I've got some wheels and I'm motorized, almost like I planned,
but I steer my wheelchair with my chin 'cause I haven't any hands.

Though I smell of medication, and I'm living in a chair,
and I'm crippled in my body, and way beyond repair,
I'm trying to stay a useful man, though I don't believe you care.
And you're half the reason of why I'm even there.

Forgive me or forget me, it doesn't matter anymore.
I'm too ate up within myself to roll across the floor.
And I'm passed the point of caring for the outside of my door,
so I'll just stay here until I cross that other shore.

(A veteran's fatal dream)

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