By Michael Dingwell

They come through the mist, through the night so cold, Their faces are young, and yet they're really quite old. Everything's dark, their weapons are black, Here come the boys from Vietnam; the dead are back.

Alone I watch, always so alone, My friends all dead, just ashes and bone. Alone I watch, only I can hear, They talk to me, they tell me 'never fear',

"You're part of us, our link to life; Only you escaped, Mike, that dreadful knife The knife of death, the knife of despair. Why did we die, way over there?

What about our folks, sister and brother? What about my Dad, who told my Mother? We have only you, Mike, our link to the living, We can talk to you, for you understand our non-forgiving.

They didn't send us to fight, they sent us to die. They didn't even tell us the truth, nothing but lies."

Well boys, you're dead and gone. You left me here, a survivor all alone. So why come back now to disturb my sleep? Are you trying to break me down, make me weep?

I didn't kill you boys, I cried for every one, Thirty-five times I cried, I guess I'll never be done. So why don't you go away, leave me in peace, Or just come in the day and let me sleep at least.

Just when I think I'm OK, just when I let my guard down, Then here you boys come again, Skip, Speedy and Brown. I can't remember all of your names, nor where you were from, But I do remember your deaths, every single one.

Deaths so horrible they'd make most men gag, And I had to put you, my friends, in a body bag. We're linked together, the living and the dead, But the worse time of all is when I'm in bed.

For when you come, you cause me great pain, I didn't die, I was only maimed. I relive your deaths, throughout my life, For I'm the only one who escaped that knife.

I'm the 'Survivor', the one who made it through, And believe me boys, I miss all of you. So go away now, relieve me of my pain Leave me alone, before I go insane.

I know you're in Valhalla, where all of the warriors go, So I'll see you soon enough, Bill, and damn, I miss you so.

Copyright © 1995 By Michael Dingwell, all rights reserved