Therapeutic Occupational Theory

I got a helluva job here, breathing in the dust of Saigon

Moving families from their homes between the wars

The kids are always crying, ‘cept the sick ones

And the old ones don’t care where they go no more

The food comes in wherever they can find it

Most supplies get stole before they get them

Or sold to those who can’t afford to pay

So they eat what they can steal of what we let them

The eyes they wear with the packs they carry

Stare blank through the fields they used to grow

They’re walking from the holes in the way they’re used to living

To the jungles where the U.S. lets them go.


I keep saying they should know the war is over

And to duck behind the trees when things explode

I say, aren’t they glad about their country’s reconstruction

And to walk around the pock-marks in the road

If they’re sick, I say, we brought in doctors

If they die, I say, I didn’t know

I’m just moving them over the bodies of their brothers

To the jungles where the U.S. lets them go.