I WAS A PHOTOGRAPH

For Lance Cpl. James Blake Miller

words and music by Kasey Anderson

sky the color of a match been struck
sun just hangin’ like the noose got stuck
and you can try to stare it back down but you can’t cover it up
red dirt rising ‘til it fills your lungs
your hand’s the bullet and your heart’s the gun
and you learned how to turn your back on almost anything, but you never learned to run

you seen the ditches where the dead get left
and the hungry cats in the hollow chests
and you can pin your eyes shut, boy, but you can’t get no rest
but, hell, it’s just bones scattered in the dust
and it don’t mean nothin’ to the TV trucks
‘til it’s real, american boys spittin’ up real, american blood

well, in charlie company, the first thing you’re taught
is you ain’t worth half of what you thought
and just like everything else i learned, i couldn’t shut it off
so i felt like nothing when i got back home
and my father saw me in my granddad’s clothes
and said, “you inherit my blood, boy, but your sins are all your own”

now i don’t sleep like i did before
i wake up trembling on the bedroom floor
always seven steps from the ghosts on the other side of that door
wondering what’d do to earn another day
because i don’t confess, and sure as hell don’t pray
i just defend, attack, withdraw, delay…

you know my face
i was a photograph
on the front page, ‘neath the headline WAR
and i was numb back then, boy,
but i ain’t even numb no more