| Naked as sin, an army towel
|
| Covering my belly
|
| Some of us blush, somehow
|
| Knees turning to jelly
|
| Next, next
|
| I was still just a kid
|
| There were a hundred like me
|
| I followed a naked body
|
| A naked body follwed me
|
| next, next
|
| I was still just a kid
|
| When my innocence was lost
|
| In a mobile army whorehouse
|
| Gift from the army, free of cost
|
| Next, next
|
| Me, I really would have liked
|
| A little touch of tenderness
|
| Maybe a word, a smile
|
| An hour of happiness
|
| But, next, next
|
| Oh, it wasn’t so tragic
|
| The high heavens did not fall
|
| But how much of that time
|
| I hated being there at all
|
| Next, next Now I always will recall
|
| The brothel truck, the flying flags
|
| The queer lieutenant who slapped
|
| Our asses as if we were fags
|
| Next, next
|
| I swear on the wet head
|
| Of my first case of gonorrhea
|
| It is his ugly voice
|
| That I forever hear
|
| Next, next
|
| That voice that stinks of whiskey
|
| Of corpses and of mud
|
| It is the voice of nations
|
| It is the thick voice of blood
|
| Next, next
|
| And since the each woman
|
| I have taken to bed
|
| Seems to laugh in my arms
|
| To whisper through my head
|
| Next, next
|
| All the naked and the dead
|
| Should hold each other’s hands
|
| As they watch me scream at night
|
| In a dream no one understands
|
| Next, next
|
| And when I am not screaming
|
| In a voice grown dry and hollow
|
| I stand on endless naked lines
|
| Of the following and the followed
|
| Next, next
|
| One day I’ll cut my legs off
|
| Or burn myself alive
|
| Anything, I’ll do anything
|
| To get out of line to survive
|
| Never to be next
|
| Never to be next. |