Wrong Side of Comfort

I still hear boots on concrete in my head at night. Echoes of orders,

blacked out skies and red eye flights. They say I'm home now,

but this don't feel like home. I traded brotherhood for cubicles and broken phones.

Clocking in, biting my tongue, fake smiles on my face. They say,

"We got your back," then disappear without a trace. They don't speak the language,

don't know what it means. Honor, courage, commitment,

more than words to me. They stare at my left forearm like it's something

to fear. Semper fi carved deep, yeah, I earned that