I keep the edges painted, I hold a quiet line If you ask me how I'm doing, I'll tell you that I'm fine But just beneath the surface of the face I let them see There's a shadow and a tremor that is tearing into me I'm always seconds from an audible start A flinch I can't defeat Standing in the grocery line or walking down the street The pollen count is high today, I whisper to the floor A desperate little alibi to hide a quiet war Because my mind is stuck in Wanat July of 08 When the Waygal Valley opened up the Devil's gate The FST in Asadabad was drowning in the flood A clusterfuck of trauma, of tourniquets and blood We couldn't take another soul, the triage was so packed Overfly the Jalalabad, we yelled into the static track When the saving finally ended, and the triage went to sleep We had to face the harvest that the valley chose to reap Out back there was a connex, a shipping crate of steel Refrigerated in the dark to make the nightmare real I was the keeper of the quiet, the tender of the cold Wrapping up the twenty years who'd never get to grow old I pulled the heavy zippers over young and ashen skin I shut the metal doors and locked the nightmares in I learned every feature, I saw every face Young American ghosts in a dark and freezing place I zipped them in the black bags I pulled the plastic tight and now those faces visit me On a regular basis at night Because my mind is stuck in Wanat July of 08 When the Waygal Valley opened up the Devil's gate The FST in our Asadabad was drowning in the flood A clusterfuck of trauma, of tourniquets and blood We couldn't take another soul, the triage was so packed Overfly the Jalalabad, we yelled into the static track So I, So I swallow down the panic I dry my fucking face I hide my shame in public in this safe civilian place There's no metal for the connex, there's no ribbon for the cold Just the heavy black of canvas and the boys that won't grow old Yeah, the pollen count is high today Just give me a minute, I'm fine The hum of the steel I see you brothers
