The Rebel Lyrics

Bloodshed is glorious - a draftee's delusion

Fostered by Hollywood and faith in the union

He packed up his scrapbook, said farewell to his mother

Now he had not a home, just a new band of brothers

Sam was his new Lord, whose mercy was phony

A carbine his lover, the trigger her quoniam

Blue waters shrank beneath as Wagner resounded

Yet he was only a pawn, in servitude grounded



Dear young Rebel, bow to your uncle

Raise up the flag, support it from underneath

Don't worry, Rebel, they'll bring you back home soon

Parades and medals for your platoon



What are we doing here? He started wondering

With the natives never tiring, the weapons always firing

From somewhere in the distant brush; the Rebel swore he'd had enough

If only he knew what was coming

Deep in the jungle his company was creeping

They saw up ahead a yellow boy weeping

A soldier moved in, and the little boy ran

It was too late by then; they saw the black on his hands

On top of a land mine the soldier was broiled

By gunpowder made on American soil

From the charred melted flesh came a series of cries

Like ?Have mercy, Lord!? and ?Sweet Jesus Christ!?



Oh, dear Rebel, war sure ain't pretty

But you must remember the investments of Washington D.C.

Those who die are heroes, but those who run are rotten

Hang in there, Rebel, and you'll never be forgotten



That same night, the orders came through

From a faceless man over the radio:

?There's a little town about a mile west

Take supplies, burn the buildings down, and you know the rest?

Well, the Rebel knew it wasn't his choice

A gear in a machine doesn't get a voice

The soldiers conserved their ammunition

And slit every yellow throat in sight?a successful mission

It's a funny thing, killing those you've never met

So the Rebel laughed aloud as his insides wept, screaming,

?All you yellow bastards, I hope you've seen what we can do

When you fuck with freedom?there'll be red, black, and blue?



Oh, dear Rebel, I'm afraid you're going mad

When killing gets personal, you know it's getting bad

You see, war's a business and your country needs control

Of your mind, of your body, of your heart, and your soul

Don't you get nostalgic for your welcome mat's allure

'Cuz home ain't coming soon, you got another tour



More rounds exchanged, wounds exchanged, and deaths exchanged

The birds exchanged glances, and declared men insane

Morale was getting low on the good guys' side

The Rebel fighting merely to save his own life

Well, the reaper was so busy collecting all the souls,

That he overlooked dear Rebel, but war still took its toll

You could see the skull behind his eyes, and his words were but a few

When the men in suits shook his hand and said ?I'm proud of you?

A nation polarized, each side holding its own

Some blindly waving flags, some blindly throwing stones

The Rebel watched and wondered if there'd ever be a point

In crying out for peace as long as man was minting coins



Oh, dear Rebel, men will be men

The important thing right now is to get back to your friends

And your aging mother too, I'm certain she misses you

Try to smile wide for her, don't you let her see inside



The Rebel didn't smile when the landlord gave the news

His mother was evicted when she couldn't pay the dues

So he interviewed the neighbors, their answers only varied

Yet he found what he was looking for in a brief obituary

?A widow, fifty-two, died from cancer of the lung

Fighting bravely overseas is her single loving son?



And he's been feeling sorry ever since

Can only place the blame on the Charlies and the Dinks

Those people passing by on winter afternoons

They curse him for his laziness, and drop a dime or two

Once he earns eleven-fifty, he can buy a fifth of whiskey

A temporary blanket from the ever-icy stares

He isn't proud of killing men, but content with killing time

He doesn't need your pity, only money for cheap wine



Dear old Rebel, keep telling your tale

Passing sighs and pickup lines, slurred words that seem to sail

It don't matter where your eyes are, glazed and robbed of rest,

When your mind's drifting to a dusty heaven in the warmth of the Southwest