My Grandpa used to fight in Vietnam / Souls that leave their blood, / As their lifeless bodies' coldness appear / The silence that kills him / The children that were slain before him / He didn't know what to do / He took his rusty rifle, the swollen grenades / In the stillness of the rain, hiding behind crates / The sudden scream of a woman, escapes / He killed a person in Vietnam / He looked upon innocent blood that flowed / As the banshees of helicopters that land / The evident decay on the wet earth.