Ski died young, `neath a melting sun, In a field of flame far astray. Jets roared by, in the smoke filled sky, As I watched Ski’s life ebb away. His wound wasn’t much, and he was warm to the touch, So I thought he would be okay. But it wasn’t to be, as they took Ski from me, In the fiery green jungle that day. Now many years have gone by, and I still wonder why, My friend had to leave me that way. And my eyes start to blink, when I look back and think, What my dying young friend had to say, Hold on to me man, I know that you can. Listen to me while I pray. You ain’t gonna die, in anguish I cried As I pulled him up safe from the fray. Our eyes did then meet, and his face was so sweet, I bawled like a babe in dismay. Oh, don’t take my friend, I said to the wind. Let me go if someone must pay. But I could not save Ski; it was not him or me. The choice of the God’s had been made. Now I write this sad scroll, with a hole in my soul. Knowing a better man than I ever portrayed. Died a long time ago. A long way from home, And gave us all freedom. Prepaid.