Moe: The Unsung Mechanic

Moe Reese, they called him Moe. Out on the base

where the winds would blow. Hands of grease, heart of steel, turning wrenches with

a steady feel. B-52's guts laid bare. Moe knew every bolt and gear.

Moe, the mechanic under the sky so blue. Kept those engines

running true. Never flew, but he held the wings of a bird,

the sword of freedom it sings. Moe, we owe so much to you.

Late nights under hanger lights, tools clanging in the quiet nights.

A cup of coffee, a tired grin, the fight for freedom starts within.