I wrote a battle hymn last Thursday afternoon For soldiers I invented in a city I assumed But the details were too accurate — the street names, the count The date, the name of the commanding voice, the final shout Someone else's war inside my hands I'm writing what I don't understand Someone else's war inside my voice Did I make this or was I given no choice? I'm transcribing something I should have no access to Someone else's war — but every word of it rings true I posted it on impulse — someone commented within the hour Said "my grandmother was there, how did you know the tower?" Said "that name in the third verse — that was her commanding officer's name" Said "how did you get this? Did you study this? This is not a game" Someone else's war inside my hands I'm writing what I don't understand Someone else's war inside my voice Did I make this or was I given no choice? I'm transcribing something I should have no access to Someone else's war — but every word of it rings true So what am I? A receiver? A translator? A thief? Am I carrying someone's history Without their permission? Or am I carrying someone's history Because they can't carry it themselves? Because they need it carried? Because the carrying matters? Because without a carrier The history dies with the dying? Someone else's war I'll carry it carefully Someone else's war I'll carry it honestly Someone else's war I'll carry it until It finds the one it belongs to
