He's on every wall of every room, 

Around our necks and in our heads, 

In our hearts, in what we said. 

He hangs on the cross, 

Head bowed in shame

'Cause you can't do one thing. 

You can't say their names. 

The rich here are many. 

The poor, so few. 

I love our heroes, our troops, 

Why don't you? 

Rarely do they leave here. 

Scarce shadows of tan boots. 

Camo glows dull, 

Hidden by the "intelligent" of this crew. 

The scholars, the smart,

The success are only honored

While our boys march on

And honor the Fathers.  

I ask you why you hide them

As if they were a dastardly disgrace

They are the most gallant of all, 

A true honor to this place.