Another vacant chair...

The Helicopter Pilot In Vietnam I flew a craft, A Huey made by Bell Through missions made of boredom And sometimes living hell. We chopper pilots hauled the mail And Grunts we hauled by scores And often saw the grief that’s caused In mankind’s modern wars. When bullets flew no man could know Which one might kill a Friend But missions go, and work goes on Until the day’s work ends. Then there came tomorrow But nothing there had changed The names that fight the battle Were merely rearranged. And so again the war renewed And soldiers fought and bled And so it was my duty To medevac the dead. But later that same day The radio message spoke: A wounded Brother needed help A Huey His only hope. And so a mission of itself Began with heart and soul Its purpose was to save a Friend And try to make him whole. The war no longer mattered Though risks ahead were clear Our foe would aim to end our task To aid a Friend so dear. The nose dropped low as on we sped With purpose clear we’d strive And hope drew strength within us That our Friend was still alive. And so we came to find him There’s little else to say And he was saved among the lost Our victory for that day A pilot, yes, a soldier too I learned the truth of war And now I’ll pass it on to you So you will know the score. Soldiers do not fight the fight To justify war’s ends They labor long and fight and die To simply save their Friends. It’s important you remember How wars all come to be And who it was that sent our troops, “The People”, that is, “We”. And shame of shames upon you As we war on foreign lands If you think no stain is on you And no blood is on your hands.