The Lucky Ones

In a cold van driving through the upper midwest on tour last week, we all read the feature in the New York Times about that Iraq war veterans with no criminal history who return with PTSD and commit murders, and the trouble that arises in sentencing them. A South Dakota judge puts it best: "Obviously not all the casualties coming home from Iraq or Afghanistan come home in body bags." We wrote this week's song, The Lucky Ones, about this latest tragedy in the seemingly endless string of tragedies that this war continues to produce.

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Max and the Marginalized the only rock band in the progressive blogosphere, and therefore the best one! They write and record a song a week and post on Thursdays. Go to their outposts on Facebook or MySpace for tour dates and downloads.

The Lucky Ones

The wheels they touch the ground
the plane skids to a halt
Grandma waves her arms, eyelids filling up with salt
They fire up the grill
and pat him on the head
He holds his paper cup high in the air and says that

"I must be one of the lucky ones
some of my friends not so much, who aren't here today
Because my, my time over there is done
I can't say the same for the other ones who never made it back this way."

A month later on the porch he gave them such a fright
Suzie got scared off by all those outbursts in the night
She moved back with her folks in western Tennessee
He finds more solace in the taverns than the pharmacy, he says

"I might not be one of the lucky ones
my war's only just begun in this unfamiliar place.
And why am I blowing smoke rings in the air
reaching for help that isn't there but nonetheless I wait."

He stands in his fatigues in a civilian court
The judge, he shakes his head and says "I'll try to keep it short:
I don't know what to do in situations such as these,
but we'll see this more and more from this imposed disease.
And I am really one of the lucky ones
the price I've paid has been next to none compared to what you pay."

And I, without any hint of sacrifice - we'll go about our daily lives
and wish this shit away.
And I owe more than a passing thought that way
At barbecues and on holidays to the dead and those turned mad
And I don't know which is the luckiest
And what your definition of lucky is, I'm afraid that's up for grabs
and that's all I have...