ramblings and things
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Phantoms
You see him on the street
But he's not really there,
Trapped in his own private hell
Behind a thousand yard stare.
The turmoil in his mind
Leaves him no choices
But to listen to the screams
And hear lost friends' voices,
Hammering and beating
Like a loop of cassette tape
Repeating and repeating,
Like a form of mental rape.
Sometimes he takes the drugs
A process he hates
Because it reduces him to
A near zombie state.
And then there are times
When the voices set him free
And then we can chat,
This old squaddie pal and me.
Out of the blue
He will stutter and then
We know that very soon
His voices will come again,
And you will see him on the street,
But he's not really there,
Just trapped in his own private hell
Behind a thousand yard stare.
But he's not really there,
Trapped in his own private hell
Behind a thousand yard stare.
The turmoil in his mind
Leaves him no choices
But to listen to the screams
And hear lost friends' voices,
Hammering and beating
Like a loop of cassette tape
Repeating and repeating,
Like a form of mental rape.
Sometimes he takes the drugs
A process he hates
Because it reduces him to
A near zombie state.
And then there are times
When the voices set him free
And then we can chat,
This old squaddie pal and me.
Out of the blue
He will stutter and then
We know that very soon
His voices will come again,
And you will see him on the street,
But he's not really there,
Just trapped in his own private hell
Behind a thousand yard stare.
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Phantoms
Phantoms