While this is not a podcast, I am sharing it nonetheless, as it tells a story that I feel I need to share. This is in memory of my father, Gregor A. Orr, who was stationed at Cam Ranh Bay during the worst years. Miss you dad. Thank you for listening.
VIETNAM- By Josh Orr 2021-4-24
---------------------------------------------------------
Fortunate sons, soldiers their cattle,
Never seeing the heat of a battle.
No necklace of ears, or mortal fears. Can you hear them now? Gerald Bruner did, and tried to be bold. Shut your mouth man, do as you are told.
Angered and hollowed out, left to fend for their brothers, none expecting a return to civilian life.
Or to see their mothers.
Just one more time.
The downtrodden and ignorant, sent off to kill or be killed, is beyond a crime.
To hand out candy to children, before throwing them a grenade, then a shallow grave, along with their mothers and grandparents. A travesty. What future can we save?
Where were the Men?
No matter. Revenge is revenge. Served hot or cold, we will have the last word in the end.
The smell of napalm in the morning, a mere warning, Chase and Sanborn, a Lucky Strike, an unlucky ambush. The smells of burning flesh wafting in the evening breeze.
Rinse and repeat. This darkess got to give. One way or another. There must be another.
The ghosts of war haunt the jungles of our psyche, or the desert, if you are so unlucky to partake in the modern games they call warfare. They don't care.
Guerilla or gorilla, each will tear your limbs off given a reason; in spite of the fact we already know what it means to bleed, as a collective.... such treason, for those who wear suits and ties, while wrapping themselves in an American flag I despise.
A true patriot protects his people, not his own agenda.
How many young men have found God in desperation, defending their nation, or so they thought? How many aircraft carriers must be bought? Oh how they Fought, so valiantly, doing what they were told; strong, yet young enough to mould.
Who could be so cold?
Ask Washington. Nobody wants to talk about Truths.
A pair of dog tags, a foot, sticking out of a boot, a different kind of Mine-craft, to be stumbled upon by farmers and children alike for decades to come. Oh how fun!
But we have rats to sniff them out. Don't you mind the mess we left behind, it was all in the Name of democracy and freedom. Nobody's to Blame.....
They said communism MUST be defeated, and even so, the Greatest Nation Retreated, tail between our legs, held hung low, never to admit our failure, nor treat our veterans with common decency.
Such a low blow......
Civilian lives are mere distractions, can't be slowed by their reactions. Women, children gather round, step right up and find your way into the ground. The fog of war, those wild dances, we simply cannot take those chances.
No surrender, take no prisoners. Fear of the unknown can make a monster.
Find your Future,
Be a Man.
Pay for College,
That's the plan.
If you're able,
and survive,
be thankful that
you're still alive.
While 17 are lost per day, to their own hands, what can one say? Tents and shelters swell with those who fell and go through living Hell.
We tell ourselves the ends justify the means. Does anyone really believe that?
Perhaps, until their child returns home in a pine box with a thank you letter.
Like Kent University, even on American soil one dare not question the War Pigs tactics. Support the troops, such old tropes, transparent in their mockery of true freedom.
Freedom for those with means, and Agent Orange for the rest. We thank Monsanto wholeheartedly, for hiding the dangers of the chemicals used to defoliate entire regions and strip away the canopy of Life.
We need not know.
Ignorance is bliss, so they say. I don't buy it in any way.
Generations of disease, defects in the plants and trees; not to mention those who suffer needlessly for what we please.
I cry for those who lost their husband, child, wife, and all the bitter strife; so senseless in the scheme of things, a branch lost on the Tree of Life.
What morbid skeleton remains, when the smoke clears, a return of the rains, but not too soon..... No monsoon!
We control the weather too. Delay nature, we have work to do.
We have.....Killing to do.
Killing in the name of.......
Land. Resource. Or what's Above.
Religion.... at least in guise. Used against us, I would surmise. Surprise! The eyes show men who's lies leave bodies left out for the flies.
It's not enough, for you and me,
to try and live in harmony.
Rainbows end where Hell Begins,
A branch that's broken on the tree.
A psyche broken, promise too,
That we can defend what we do,
To one another in the field,
I STILL see dog tags in that shoe......
I've never seen a battle field, choices made for my own sake. My father never had that chance, his only life was theirs to take.
Those who fight will come to know, that war is nothing but a show; no result except for death and watching men take their last breath; there's really nowhere left to go.
I hold my head so Goddamn low.
What have we done.
What have we done?
VIETNAM- By Josh Orr 2021-4-24
---------------------------------------------------------
Fortunate sons, soldiers their cattle,
Never seeing the heat of a battle.
No necklace of ears, or mortal fears. Can you hear them now? Gerald Bruner did, and tried to be bold. Shut your mouth man, do as you are told.
Angered and hollowed out, left to fend for their brothers, none expecting a return to civilian life.
Or to see their mothers.
Just one more time.
The downtrodden and ignorant, sent off to kill or be killed, is beyond a crime.
To hand out candy to children, before throwing them a grenade, then a shallow grave, along with their mothers and grandparents. A travesty. What future can we save?
Where were the Men?
No matter. Revenge is revenge. Served hot or cold, we will have the last word in the end.
The smell of napalm in the morning, a mere warning, Chase and Sanborn, a Lucky Strike, an unlucky ambush. The smells of burning flesh wafting in the evening breeze.
Rinse and repeat. This darkess got to give. One way or another. There must be another.
The ghosts of war haunt the jungles of our psyche, or the desert, if you are so unlucky to partake in the modern games they call warfare. They don't care.
Guerilla or gorilla, each will tear your limbs off given a reason; in spite of the fact we already know what it means to bleed, as a collective.... such treason, for those who wear suits and ties, while wrapping themselves in an American flag I despise.
A true patriot protects his people, not his own agenda.
How many young men have found God in desperation, defending their nation, or so they thought? How many aircraft carriers must be bought? Oh how they Fought, so valiantly, doing what they were told; strong, yet young enough to mould.
Who could be so cold?
Ask Washington. Nobody wants to talk about Truths.
A pair of dog tags, a foot, sticking out of a boot, a different kind of Mine-craft, to be stumbled upon by farmers and children alike for decades to come. Oh how fun!
But we have rats to sniff them out. Don't you mind the mess we left behind, it was all in the Name of democracy and freedom. Nobody's to Blame.....
They said communism MUST be defeated, and even so, the Greatest Nation Retreated, tail between our legs, held hung low, never to admit our failure, nor treat our veterans with common decency.
Such a low blow......
Civilian lives are mere distractions, can't be slowed by their reactions. Women, children gather round, step right up and find your way into the ground. The fog of war, those wild dances, we simply cannot take those chances.
No surrender, take no prisoners. Fear of the unknown can make a monster.
Find your Future,
Be a Man.
Pay for College,
That's the plan.
If you're able,
and survive,
be thankful that
you're still alive.
While 17 are lost per day, to their own hands, what can one say? Tents and shelters swell with those who fell and go through living Hell.
We tell ourselves the ends justify the means. Does anyone really believe that?
Perhaps, until their child returns home in a pine box with a thank you letter.
Like Kent University, even on American soil one dare not question the War Pigs tactics. Support the troops, such old tropes, transparent in their mockery of true freedom.
Freedom for those with means, and Agent Orange for the rest. We thank Monsanto wholeheartedly, for hiding the dangers of the chemicals used to defoliate entire regions and strip away the canopy of Life.
We need not know.
Ignorance is bliss, so they say. I don't buy it in any way.
Generations of disease, defects in the plants and trees; not to mention those who suffer needlessly for what we please.
I cry for those who lost their husband, child, wife, and all the bitter strife; so senseless in the scheme of things, a branch lost on the Tree of Life.
What morbid skeleton remains, when the smoke clears, a return of the rains, but not too soon..... No monsoon!
We control the weather too. Delay nature, we have work to do.
We have.....Killing to do.
Killing in the name of.......
Land. Resource. Or what's Above.
Religion.... at least in guise. Used against us, I would surmise. Surprise! The eyes show men who's lies leave bodies left out for the flies.
It's not enough, for you and me,
to try and live in harmony.
Rainbows end where Hell Begins,
A branch that's broken on the tree.
A psyche broken, promise too,
That we can defend what we do,
To one another in the field,
I STILL see dog tags in that shoe......
I've never seen a battle field, choices made for my own sake. My father never had that chance, his only life was theirs to take.
Those who fight will come to know, that war is nothing but a show; no result except for death and watching men take their last breath; there's really nowhere left to go.
I hold my head so Goddamn low.
What have we done.
What have we done?