Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

In Times Square I’ll see your face
Through the crowd and all the rushed embrace
You’ll say «I heard you lost an eye»
Then we’ll watch all the shell-shocked sailors cry
It’s spring
What a load it brings
In the air hoping systems work
A flaming plane that crashed then turned to dirt
I awoke to find my fur had froze
The 109's had done as they were told
It’s spring
What a load it brings
When I feel pain
Mustangs strafed our train
Through the bars we heard the end was near
Juxtapose the guard’s hate with new fear
We were marched through bombed-out gutted towns
I’d seen before with my .50's pointed down
It’s spring
What a load it brings