i should have kept kept that shot
of you turning up that bottle of scotch
and all of these rafts and pontoons
shimmer beneath normandy moon
here is where the voice leaves off
lungs collapsing sputtering cough
and as our crafts hit the shore
and we scramble to remember what for
always one more never the last
fresh off the farm into a bullet's path
another sad letter another grim post
another november ghost
you can touch the face of fate
when your blood saturates
the beaches were never fully cleared
dropped it into fifth when the clutch gave up
i was too high to die but down on my luck
never saw your pain when i was twenty five
it's the curse of youth to be so blind
always one more never the last
fresh off the farm into the looking gla**