The Fields of the Fallen...

[Your Uncle Sam]

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"...only the dead have seen the end of war"-Gen. Douglas Mcarthur

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THE BLACK GRANITE WALL

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THE BLACK GRANITE WALL

There’s a brand new statue standin’ tall in Washington-
three young men for those who died in Vietnam.
And don’t forget the names on the black granite wall-
over fifty thousand dead for Uncle Sam.

Vietnam was a long, long time ago-
twenty years since we answered the call.
Just last week I went on down to Washington-
found my friends Fred and Robby on the wall.

A bugler sounded Taps above the wall
for the dead and those still missing over there.
Everybody listened to that lonesome bugle call,
and lonesome tears were fallin’ everywhere.

Vietnam was a long, long time ago-
twenty years since we answered the call.
Just last week I went on down to Washington-
found my friends Fred and Robby on the wall.

A lady near the White House stands there night and day
with all her painted signs that warn of war.
I’ll agree with her that mankind might never ever learn-
seems like we keep comin’ back for more.

No sense talkin’ about the many lives that might have been,
but I’ve got one request for my good old Uncle Sam.
If war must be, this time I hope you’ll let us win-
don’t let it be another Vietnam.

Vietnam was a long, long time ago-
twenty years since we answered the call.
Just last week I went on down to Washington-
found my friends Fred and Robby on the wall.

LISTEN

click here

Black%20Granite%20Wall.mp3

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I wrote "Black Granite Wall" in 1984. On the morning of 10 November that year, the day of the dedication of the Three Soldiers Monument, I stood atop that solemn wall and sounded Taps our dead and missing in Vietnam. As I played my horn, many thousands of patriots fell silent as they stood between Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial. Thankfully, my notes were perfect. President Reagan spoke that afternoon. The next day my photo appeared on the front page of the Trenton Times- identifying me only as "a lone bugler." That was nearly 20 years since I enlisted in the Army in 1965. As a bugler in the 6th Army Band at the Presidio of San Francisco during 1966 and 1967, I played Taps so many times in California that I soon lost count. On one day alone in Golden Gate National Cemetery at San Bruno, I was privileged to play for 25 military funerals. For my opportunity to serve as a bugler for twenty years as both Soldier and Airman, I am forever grateful to Almighty God.

-Dickie Allan

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THE BATTLIN’ BASTARDS OF BATAAN

My name is Stewart Willever, Radioman Second Class, United States Navy. I was on PT 41 in March of 1942 when she carried General MacArthur from Corregidor to Mindanao, away from the invading Japanese. Our hopelessly outnumbered and ill-equipped forces on the Bataan Peninsula surrendered in April of 1942. The Japanese then forced their prisoners of war to march 60 miles without food or water. More than 11,000 Americans and Filipinos perished on that brutal trek,
now known as the “Bataan Death March.”

When I was finally captured on 6 May of 1942, I was put on a prison ship bound for Japan. That ship was immediately sunk by friendly fire, and I escaped- then successfully serving as radioman for the Army resistance on Mindanao until taken prisoner once again by the Japanese in 1943. I was then shipped to Japan and forced to mine coal. Liberated from the Osaka Main Camp in the fall of 1945,
I carried bayonet scars and bitter memories for the rest of my life.

While some of you may be old enough to remember 11 September 2001 or even Pearl Harbor,
perhaps you’ve all forgotten the Battling Bastards of Bataan.

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THE BATTLIN’ BASTARDS OF BATAAN

Ice cold beer on summer nights-
sweet perfume in the air.
Steak and spuds and apple pie- the hills of home so fair.
Memories, sweet memories, dance within my brain-
They dance to silent music there- dance to ease my pain.
No Mama and no Poppa, not even Uncle Sam.
I guess they’ve all forgotten the Bastards of Bataan.

This prison camp is awful, nothin’ much to eat.
Mosquito bites all over me, blisters on my feet.
I don’t have time to tell you my entire tale of woe,
But thousands here, men just like me, I wish that you could know.
No Mama and no Poppa, not even Uncle Sam.
I guess they’ve all forgotten the Bastards of Bataan.

We held out against our enemy as long as we could hold.
We fought for life and liberty, we did what we were told.
But now it seems our lives are done- just casualties of war.
It seems we are expendable- like money out the door.
No Mama and no Poppa, not even Uncle Sam.
I guess they’ve all forgotten the Bastards of Bataan.

When I joined the Navy, I went off to fight a war.
It’s so hard to remember just what things were like before.
Death and dyin’ all around me, in sweet memory I roam.
I wish I was in Jersey. I wish that I was home.
No Mama and no Poppa, not even Uncle Sam.
I guess they’ve all forgotten the Bastards of Bataan.

No Mama and no Poppa, not even Uncle Sam.
I guess they’ve all forgotten the Battlin’ Bastards of Bataan.

-Dickie Allan

LISTEN

click here

Bastards%20of%20Bataan%20%282018%29.mp3

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A FLAG WE CALL GLORY

AND A GIFT WE CALL

...FREEDOM

A FLAG WE CALL GLORY AND A GIFT WE CALL FREEDOM

 

From the jungles of Vietnam to the sands of Iraq,

we fought for human liberty.

Some of you at home said, “Why? We have our freedom.”

“Give me liberty, or give me death,” said Patrick Henry.

All you brave families with dear ones away,

our history is written for you-

about a flag we call Glory and a gift we call Freedom,

our story of Red, White and Blue.

 

From the time General Washington knelt in the snow

that winter at old Valley Forge,

American Soldiers and Sailors away

have been precious and brave as was George.

The gift we call Freedom has never been free,

and it’s wrapped in the Red, White and Blue.

For all you brave families with dear ones away,

Glory flies especially for you.

 

These time-tried traditions of a glorious past

Obama could never understand.

We answer the plaintiff call of freedom-

even when duty calls to a distant land.

No matter how painful the choice when it’s made,

we know we must always be true-

to the flag we call Glory and the gift we call Freedom,

our story of Red, White and Blue.

 

You’re never forgotten, and we miss you while we’re gone,

so much that we hurt inside-

but the flag we call Glory and the gift we call Freedom

never once have enjoyed a free ride.

To these time-tried traditions of a glorious past,

our fighting men and women must be true.

The bugle calls and we go, from the first to the last-

our story of Red, White and Blue.

 

The gift we call Freedom has never been free.

Glory flies at a price of flesh and bone.

The Red, White and Blue flies for me and for you,

and it’s history is chiseled in stone.

It’s written on the gravestones of those who have died

for the freedoms we enjoy in our land.

These time-tried traditions of a glorious past

are a saga some will never understand...

- Dickie Allan

...LISTEN,

click here

A%20Flag%20We%20Call%20Glory.mp3

We WILL stand

CLICK HERE

WE%20WILL%20STAND%20911%20ANTHEM%2005-04.mp3

September 11, 2001

"May Independence Day be every day"

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...to the living force

THE OYSTER AND THE PEARL

 

The grain of sand that brings you sorrow

 will be tomorrow’s pearl.

You are like the fabled oyster.

Dry your eyes, my little girl.

Banish thoughts of death and dying;

the Lord will calm the storm.

From the grain of sand within you, girl,

the lovely pearl He’ll form.

 

Don’t let sorrow be a burden.

Jesus feels your grief and pain.

The trials of youth are fleeting

and are like the April rain.

Dry your tears and get you movin’,

though you’re yet a little girl.

Little girls become young women

like the oyster makes the pearl.

  

 In my life I’ve had my sorrows-

felt the most exquisite sting-

grains of sand that made me stronger,

 grains of sand that made me sing.

  At the center of a perfect pearl’s

 a tiny grain of sand.

Dry your tears and get you movin’, girl

 Your pearls will make a strand.

 

The grain of sand that brings you sorrow

 will be tomorrow’s pearl.

You are like the fabled oyster.

Dry your eyes, my little girl.

Banish thoughts of death and dying;

the Lord will calm the storm.

From the grain of sand within you, girl,

the lovely pearl He’ll form.

" ...the lovely pearl He’ll form "

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" The Last Straw "

CLICK HERE:

http://tpartyus2010.ning.com/forum/topics/the-last-liberal-straw

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[Raya @ REAL CONSERVATIVES]

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[Raya @ REAL CONSERVATIVES]

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