I had my ticker-tape parade last night,
I saw it in my dreams.
You should have seen the throngs of people,
heard their shouts and screams!

There was something wrong with this parade,
as I said to myself, "THIS IS IT?"
Leaning out their windows so steady,
they threw no confetti.
As on my friends bodies they spit!

Written by Dan Isakson 1989


My Dear Friend Bill, I weep for you still!
Even after all these years.
They say time will heel, the hurt that I feel.
but why then all these tears?

I see your picture upon my wall,
of the man that would have been.
Your eyes, your face, I CAN'T ERASE!
Alone here in my den!

For twenty years I've gone back to
the horrors of that day.
I live it over and over again.
but it just won't go away.

Explosions heard, un-assured
and then the cries of pain!
The sights that I see, I will never be free.
or ever be the same!

Mangled bodies before me now.
For God and Mothers they yell!
Is this really happening,
or are these scenes from HELL?

Sometimes, I wish I died, OH LORD!
Why hadn't my name been called?
Bill should still be here on earth
and my name on the WALL!

But to be or not to be,
it wasn't my choice to make.
My war rages on every
new day that I'm awake.

So I'll fight on "DEAR BILL," my friend.
I will meet you every day.
At the place where you died.
on that lonely hill of clay.

Written by Dan Isakson 1989