From inland mountains to the salt-soaked shore,
From China's border to the southern plains,
The earth lies drenched in sweat and bloody gore,
And tears keep falling like the summer rains.
Where is the peace we offered to restore?
What have we done, and who has paid the price?
Two million bodies live and breathe no more,
And corpses rot in graves near fields of rice.
A father weeps; his only son is dead.
Small children cry; their mothers cannot come.
A boy is blinded; old rags swathe his head.
Young widows beg the mercy of Quan Am.
The Viet ...
You back again?
Who sent you an invitation?
Welcome to the comforts of home
Among the homeless!
Sit down right there on that bald Mich'lin.
Rest yer weary legs on the Goodyear hassock.
Rest while we share
A cup of fresh-brewed