| The command came 'hold your fire'
|
| And if I ever meet that man I’ll ask him why
|
| We were put on standby while the scenario got dire.
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| Peace keeper with no teeth, can enforce no peace,
|
| Just becomes an eye-witness to grief
|
| Number of times I wish to leave.
|
| Couldn’t believe that we were here,
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| For nothing more then the lip service,
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| Nothing more then the empires service, Trigger finger, oh so nervous.
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| Number of times I almost let the bullets go,
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| The footage shows, that they approached the check point
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| With hands raised in civilian clothes.
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| Vince did shoot and he went home
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| Awaiting an inquest, who’s to know,
|
| If the punishment could be worse
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| Than his own thoughts when he’s all alone.
|
| And I wish he could of been here,
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| When we really needed a shooter.
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| We stood by and watched as the town we protected, Was pillages raped and looted.
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| We were ham-strung,
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| The commands come from HQ,
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| And blood on the hands was the last thing the they wanted to report,
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| The politicians that they answered to.
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| So what am I supposed to do?
|
| Why am I here? |
| Dying of fear
|
| That the faces staring up at me will continue to appear.
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| In the dreams that wake me up in fits of sweats, And all the counsellor has said
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| Won’t let me forget about Szrebrenica yet.
|
| overnight trucks in convoy
|
| big red cross on the side and the back
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| escorted by two junior officers
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| on the off chance they’d be attacked
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| on a private contract
|
| roads a gauntlet
|
| trouble none yet reported
|
| guards will get a little commission
|
| when we bribe the soldiers when we reach the border
|
| now he’s got medical supplies for a refugee camp
|
| humanitarian mission
|
| held up a week at customs
|
| took over a month to ship from Switzerland
|
| he knows nobody will listen
|
| even as the burials start increasing
|
| so he keeps the frustration under wraps
|
| he’s seen that it’s self-defeating
|
| and though he joined up to make a difference
|
| good intentions can turn out vicious
|
| as they helplessly provide aid
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| to camps of disbanded militias
|
| they’ve got cachets of illegal arms
|
| hidden away in the countryside
|
| former colonial rulers ensure
|
| they get yet more clandestine supplies
|
| he’s seen aid workers broken down
|
| to a shell of their former selves
|
| 'til they’re not so afraid of death 'cos
|
| they’ve already seen hell
|
| and the danger pay is good
|
| but every cent that he gets is earn’t
|
| and he’s alive but burning out
|
| driving through scorched earth
|
| and all in all it’s worth it isn’t it
|
| even just for the little victories?
|
| standing by as a witness
|
| to the dark rumblings of history
|
| We left home as heroes,
|
| with photo ops and press releases,
|
| and handshake from the minister,
|
| and a speech on freedom,
|
| shining beacons of democracy.
|
| The monitors of first free and fair elections,
|
| midwives to assist the birth of a distant fledgling nation.
|
| As we taxied out at Williamstown,
|
| you could smell the nerves in the Hercules,
|
| excitement and uncertainty,
|
| prestigious posting overseas.
|
| We deployed through the provinces,
|
| our project voter education,
|
| to dispel fears of retribution,
|
| with two local staff and a Thai policeman.
|
| The campaign worked and ten months later
|
| the ballot was held and turn out greater than expected,
|
| the result unknown,
|
| then the call came through on the satellite phone:
|
| «Projectiles thrown in some locations,
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| mobs attacking polling stations»,
|
| HQ called evacuation and ordered our withdrawal.
|
| We sheltered in the compound
|
| while militias torched the town,
|
| the glow of burning buildings as night fell
|
| had tensions running high.
|
| The flow of refugees braved razor wire
|
| for the protection of our presence.
|
| Automatic gun fire rang out,
|
| premeditated menace.
|
| And calls for back up to Canberra are met with silence and indecision.
|
| «Domestic intervention’s outside the mandate of this mission».
|
| And at dawn the order came,
|
| for all «essential personnel»,
|
| at 0900 the choppers would come to fly us out of hell.
|
| Now how can I meet the eye,
|
| of this man that I’ve worked beside,
|
| and tell him that I’m free to leave today whilst he is sure to die.
|
| I wanna hide, don’t understand how these people can be abandoned,
|
| and I wonder, if the minister will be there to meet us when we land. |