On the road to Basra stood young Lieutenant Jimmy Bly. Detailed to go through the clothes of the soldiers who died. At night in dreams he sees their souls rise. Like dark geese into the Oklahoma skies. Well this is a prayer for the souls of the departed. Those who've gone and left their babies brokenhearted. This is a prayer for the souls of the departed. Now Raphael Rodriguez was just seven years old. Shot down in a schoolyard by some East Compton Cholos. His mamma cried "My beautiful boy is dead". In the hills the self-made men just sighed and shook their heads. This is a prayer for the souls of the departed. Those who've gone and left their babies brokenhearted. Young lives over before they got started. This is a prayer for the souls of the departed. Tonight as I tuck my own son in bed. All I can think of is what if it would've been him instead. I want to build me a wall so high nothing can burn it down. Right here on my own piece of dirty ground. Now I ply my trade in the land of king dollar. Where you get paid and your silence passes as honor. And all the hatred and dirty little lies. Been written off the books and into decent men's eyes.