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letra de street fighters face - steve poltz

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i’m waking up and staring out; it’s kinda hard to see
i’m thinking back to growing up in tupelo, mississippi
i first left home when i was twenty and still really green
sent me off to camp pendleton to become a marine

i have a wife and child, who just turned five, this week
i miss him, so i can’t believe that he can really speak
i wrote my wife once every week so she could hear the news
she wrote me back once every day to clear away the blues

they trained me well, i made the cut; they couldn’t make me cry
i shined my boots and cleaned my gun and shouted, “simplify!”
i made some friends and shared some fun, they caught a little flack
with a swagger and a prayer we flew into iraq
with a swagger and a prayer we flew into iraq

sometimes at night i wonder what i’m doing in this place
it’s hard to sleep; there’s too much noise, i’m afraid i’ll fall from grace
my co says, “don’t worry, son. just keep up the pace
i’m glad you’re in my platoon; you’ve got a street fighters’ face
i’m glad you’re with me, son; you’ve got a street fighters’ face”

the man said, “mission accomplished” on tv; we’d won the war
we celebrated a new life; we opened a new door
we danced a bit, and drank some beers, and then we drank some more
for once i finally fell asleep; i p-ssed out on the floor

for weeks we cruised the streets; they said that we were not done
the sun’s so hot, my clothes are wet; we’re always on the run
we cruise felusia in our jeep; just me and my three friends
a roadside bomb blew us to h-ll and made the metal bend

i woke up in bethesda on a hospital bed
they finally broke the news to me that all my friends are dead
my legs are gone and i can’t feel a thing on my face
man, i don’t even look like me; a monster took my place

sometimes at night i wonder what i’m doing in this place
it’s hard to sleep; there’s too much noise, i think i fell from grace
my co says, “don’t worry, son. just keep up the pace
i’m glad you’re in my platoon; you’ve got a street fighters’ face
yeah, you served your country well with your street fighters’ face”

well, my wife don’t come around much; she found a new man
and i don’t really blame her; i don’t feel i’m worth a d-mn
and i stay in most nights with a bottle to wind down
sometimes i try to smile, but mostly i just frown

my son’s half grown up now; he visits me sometimes
we share some stories and some drinks; i usually end up crying
he pushes me in my wheelchair outside for a walk
when people see my face they always turn away in shock

i wonder what we fought for and if it was a lie
i pray to god for my dead friends; i still say, “simplify!”
i wish that i could just go back, or somehow hit a race
it’s just me all alone with my street fighters’ face

sometimes at night i wonder what i’m doing in this place
it’s hard to sleep; there’s too much noise, i think i fell from grace
my co says, “don’t worry, son. just keep up the pace
i’m glad you’re in my platoon; you’ve got a street fighters’ face
yeah, you served your country well with your street fighters’ face”

i’m waking up and staring out; it’s kinda hard to see
i’m thinking back to growing up in tupelo, mississippi

- steve poltz

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