6blackrose6

Lancaster Pennsylvania. July 3rd, 1978. Five pm. Eighty-two degrees outside. Driving sixty eight mph down Millersville road past miles of cornfields And everything is silent. Except the faint scream of wind escaping through the cracked driver side window and the dull thud of tire treading on the newly paved road. He is trying to understand, while trying not to think, while thinking too much, while being silent. And suddenly its March of 1968 And Calley is calling “kill them all dead”. And he sees his daughter, her Agent Orange colored curls clinging to her face like napalm sticks to melting bodies; her eyes burning bri

Lancaster Pennsylvania. July 3rd, 1978. Five pm. Eighty-two degrees outside. Driving sixty eight mph down Millersville road past miles of cornfields And everything is silent. Except the faint scream of wind escaping through the cracked driver side window and the dull thud of tire treading on the newly paved road. He is trying to understand, while trying not to think, while thinking too much, while being silent. And suddenly its March of 1968 And Calley is calling “kill them all dead”. And he sees his daughter, her Agent Orange colored curls clinging to her face like napalm sticks to melting bodies; her eyes burning bri