Chuck Hawthorne

Lyrics

Post 2 Gate (Chuck Hawthorne)

Little boy sellin’ soda at the Post 2 Gate;
They’re hot but I buy two or three everyday.
He gives me a high-five with a lightnin’ grin;
Picks his next victim and zeroes in.

His mamma’s begging on a cross-town street.
He’s six years old with two mouths to feed.
I can’t let him in without the right ID.
He’s killed by a suicide IED.

Soda scattered across the street
With high-five fingers and lightning teeth.
Beggar woman staying up to wait,
Your little man ain’t coming home
From the Post 2 Gate.

Picking up the pieces from this jihad ground.
Counting the twisted things I’ve found.
I see that little boy every night in dreams.
Every night he’s killed by that IED.

My wife’s kneeling by our bedside every night
Praying to the good Lord for her soldier’s life.
I’m walking down the tarmac on the final day
Sippin’ on the last soda water from the Post 2 Gate.

I’ve packed my things and thanked my stars
With feet for boots and homeless scars.
Beggar woman staying up to pray,
The same man ain’t coming home
From the Post 2 Gate.