I see you found
a box of my things,
infantries, tanks, and smoldering airplane wings.

These old pictures are cool,
tell me some stories.
Was it like the old war movies?
Sit down son,
let me fill you in.

Where to begin?
Let's start with the end.
This black and white photo
don't capture the skin.
From the flash of a gun,
to a soldier who's done,
trust me grandson,
the war was in color.

From shipyard to sea,
From factory to sky,
From rivet to rifle,
From bootcamp to battlecry,

I wore the mask up high on a daylight run
that held my face in its clammy hand,
crawled over coconut logs and corpses in coral sand

Where to begin?
Let's start with the end.
This black and white photo
don't capture the skin.
From the shock of a shell,
to the memory of smell,
if red is for hell,
the war was in color

I held the canvas bag over the railing.
The dead released with the ship still sailing,
out of our hands and into the swallowing sea.

I felt the crossfire stitching up soldiers,
into a blanket of dead, and as the night grows colder
in a window back home, a blue star is traded for gold.

Where to begin?
Let's start with the end.
This black and white photo
don't capture the skin.
When metal is churned,
and bodies are burned,
victory earned,
the war was in color.

[break]

Now I lay in my grave at age 21,
long before you were born, before I bore a son.
What good did it do? Well hopefully for you
a world without war, a life full of color.

Where to begin?
Let's start with the end
This black and white photo
never capture my skin.
Once it was torn,
from an enemy thorn,
straight through the core,
the war was in color.

Where to begin?
Let's start with the end.
This black and white photo
don't capture the skin.
From the flesh of a gun,
to a soldier who's done,
trust me grandson,
the war was in color.

Trust me grandson,
the war was in color.
Trust me grandson,
the war was in color.