Joe by Matt Sleeper

Joe was a clerk in a grocery store,
Just an average guy, no less, no more.
He loved his country and attended mass;
Just an average guy of the middle class.

Yes, Joe was average like you and I,
A fine example of an American guy.
Then one day by the old mailman,
A letter came from his Uncle Sam.

The note was short but the meaning strong,
"We're fighting a war---you're invited along."
Now this was the start of Joe's new life,
a future of battle, blood and strife.

It wasn't anything to be glad about
Joe's body was weak, but his heart was stout.
They taught him how to shoot and drill,
And told him that he had to kill.

They taught him all there was to teach,
And Joe fought like hell on that bloody beach.
With a gun in his hand and a yell so shrill,
He lead his squad up "Dead man's hill."

Dying men with anguished cries,
Are a horrible sight for any eyes.
Joe heard these groans from dying men,
As they fell at his side again and again.

His leg was now bloody from a wound in the thigh,
To fight like a man seemed a sure way to die.
As he fought his way forward, the only one left,
His brain was too tortured to warn of his death.

As more bullets found him and ripped thru his hide,
His face shone a grin both bloody and wide.
He staggered on forward with a courage that's rare,
Lord, what's holding him up, the smoke in the air?

With a grenade in his hand and his teeth tightly clenched,
he fell headlong into the enemy trench.
A few seconds later, a resounding roar,
Told the death of the lad from the grocery store.

Now somewhere a mother will mourn for her son,
And generals will talk of the battle they won.
But why did it happen? When will it cease?
Will man never grasp an eternal peace?