Letters From The Front

I bought a Che Guevara T-shirt
 And vowed my revolution
 But I have yet to wear it
 It's still hanging in my closet
 Beside the blue jeans I had on
 When we abandoned our stalemate
 I know they're the ones
 There's still ammunition in the pocket
 And grass stains on the knees
 It would have been easier by bayonet, by bullet
 Instead of by degrees
 But we always were so stubborn
 Waiting on the wait and see
 No stomach for execution
 Ours is a language of pine cones and razorblades
 Codes unbreakable
 But this flesh can only take so much
 Like the paper of our letters
 Like the jeans that are my uniform
 We are weaker than we think
 More used up than we know
 And worn out at the knees
 It would have been easier by bayonet, by bullet
 Instead of by degrees
 But we always were so stubborn
 Waiting on the wait and see
 No stomach for execution
 I am open to suggestion
 I am open to solution
 And in the quiet between fire
 We could trade absolution
 Cause I tell you I doubt
 That we know what we are doing
 And if you see a way out, I will follow you into it
 You are not my enemy
 You are not my enemy
 We get no peace of armistice
 From these battles in our hearts
 No one gets their way
 No one gets away
 We are the POWs
 Of our abbreviated sin
 Wielding our grenades
 With all the pins half-in
 And we are down upon our knees
 It would have been easier by bayonet, by bullet
 Instead of by degrees
 But we always were so stubborn
 Waiting on the wait and see
 Waiting on the wait and see
 No stomach for execution