album cover
Yogamuffin
war MAPS
Hip-Hop/Rap
war MAPS은(는) {albumName} 앨범에 수록된 곡으로 2024년 10월 3일일에 YouMeWe에서 발매되었습니다.Wings
album cover
앨범Wings
발매일2024년 10월 3일
라벨YouMeWe
언어English
멜로디에 강한 음악
어쿠스틱 악기 중심
발랑스
춤추기 좋은 음악
에너지
BPM86

개요

가사

뮤직 비디오

뮤직 비디오

크레딧

작곡 및 작사
Kyle Elliott Rudd
Kyle Elliott Rudd
작사가 겸 작곡가

가사

We send our people overseas to be all you can be
Pick up a weapon, get to steppin', don't repeat what you've seen
While somebody profits off of every bullet machine
We suffer night terrors, cold sweats, and PTSD
They just want the wars for the money
Sending us to war, war, war
Victor was a good kid, smoked a lot of weed
Liked skating mini ramps and riding on ATVs
Just couldn't keep his head out of trouble with the police
Trespassing and possession, offended habitually
By the fifth time, at home he's dodging landmines
Military father, no patience for his problems
When his college applications included incarceration
Felt he didn't stand a chance, no matter much what his grades was
One day, in the lunchroom with little hope
He saw a recruiter waving to him from a table on the other side
He approached with a vulnerable mind
They told him he could change his life, if only he'd sign
They told him stories about the glories of the battles
And the money, and the travel, and the honor
He thought about his father, it was fishy
But he bit the hook out of desperation
Two days after graduation, on his way to basic training
We send our people overseas to be all you can be
Pick up a weapon, get to steppin', don't repeat what you see
While somebody profits off of every bullet machine
We suffer night terrors, cold sweats, and PTSD
They just want the wars for the money
Sending us to war for the money
They just want the wars for the money
Sending us to war, war, war
Fast forward through two tours in foreign wars
He returned highly decorated from how he performed
He was married and reformed, but he wasn't quite the same
Even on the brightest days, you could tell he carried pain
One night, he was with his wife, driving home late
He got drowsy at the wheel, so she tried to switch the play
When she touched him on the shoulder, just to ask him to pull over
What came next was unexpected, he forgot where he was headed
His mind went back to his time in the service
The hand that touched his shoulder was a completely different person's
A local woman looked him in the eyes, hers full of tears
Her son on the other side of his scope, the air full of smoke
For a half second, he choked, reconsidered his mission
Before the thought even finished, the airstrikes touched down
Almost blinded his vision, the only thing that he could see
Was the death of civilians
And when he came back he was at the hospital in casts
They told him he had swerved into the median and crashed
The whip flipped twice, when he asked about his wife
The nurse replied "Sorry sir, only one survived,"
We send our people overseas to be all you can be
Pick up a weapon, get to steppin', don't repeat what you see
While somebody profits off of every bullet machine
We suffer night terrors, cold sweats, and PTSD
They just want the wars for the money
Sending us to war for the money
They just want the wars for the money
Sending us to war, war, war
After several weeks, heartbroken, finally released
He went straight to the VA, diagnosed with PTSD
They gave him SSRI's, said he'd be fine, give it time
And they might have dulled his mind, but not the thoughts of suicide
Not the flashbacks, not the guilt or the regret
Didn't bring his wife back, at the funeral he wept
What was left of the kid who was once full of life
But a shell of himself, inside of a world he despised
One day came a call, very unexpected
A brand new study for which he had been selected
It was MDMA assisted therapy done in Portland
He was skeptical but desperate, so the offer was accepted
Several sessions taking the medicine, talking through the pain
Open hearted, it was easier to process
Deep inside his conscious, he finally healed the wounds
He made peace with his grief, and his life could resume
We send our people overseas to be all you can be
Pick up a weapon, get to steppin', don't repeat what you see
While somebody profits off of every bullet machine
We suffer night terrors, cold sweats, and PTSD
They just want the wars for the money
Sending us to war for the money
They just want the wars for the money
Sending us to war, war, war
Written by: Kyle Elliott Rudd

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