Poor Casey sees his mother, Being used but once again, To mouth words of another, Likes of who did him in. Poor fool she is, and poorly used, To claim the mother's place, Of one who died and now's abused, By his mother now disgraced.   Poor Casey fought to win his war, He fought to do what's right; His memory's now become a sore, In his mother's fool cast light. A young man felt the need to serve, To meet his country's need; But mother felt the need for fame, To salve her ego's greed.   Poor Casey rests now sorely, A boy stressed in his grave, Served by his mother poorly, A soulless left wing slave, Who postures on the very ground, That shelter's Casey's soul, A foolish, faithless media hound, Who disgraced her brave son's role.   Ah, Cindy, Lass, you sold your soul, for fortune's fleeting fame, To dance upon your son's grave and disgrace his warrior's name. May God sometime forgive you, but we warriors never will, You sold your soul, sold out your son, someday you'll...(Read Full Post)