Somehow they caught me after the ambush...I guess I wasn't lookin'.
I know I didn't belong there in the grass by myself...I should have been bookin'.
Now I'm sittin' here in a bamboo chair with the sun straight in my face,
and I'm tied head to toe, and propped so I can't turn my head away.

I've forgotten how long I've been here...must be about six and a half.
It was back in '68 when they got me, and they were havin' quite a laugh.
I got separated from my outfit somewhere up around the hill,
and if I know that Second Louie, I'll bet he's wonderin' about me still.

A couple of times I saw some more Americans, but it has been a long while.
I never got to speak to them, so I don't think they saw me smile.
'course I just caught them from the corner of my eye...I couldn't move my head.
For all I know my loved ones, and the government, think I'm dead.

The camp commander says that the end of the war will happen soon.
He's been saying that for a couple of years...maybe in a blue moon.
Now and then I get to walk around with a guard at my side.
But when the Red Cross representative shows up they make me hide.

Locked up in darkness with no food for about four days, I guess.
I've probably lost 60 pounds since my capture, and now I look a mess.
I have limited strength as the quality and quantity of food is very low,
but I'm hearing different talk now...does this mean I get to go?

The camp commander wants to talk to me...to say the South has been defeated,
and soon I'll be released, but first sign a paper that says I was not mistreated.
I tell the commander that the paper is crap...anyone can see I am not in good health.
He says it doesn't matter, the paper is a mere formality...sign it, or else.

So I decide it really doesn't matter if I do what I am ordered to do under threats.
I look the commander in the eye for a moment, and sign the paper, with regret.
But I haven't given up all my senses, and to a short-lived, straight-faced shame,
I may have signed the paper, but with a close eye you'll see it's not quite my name.

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