Combat Stress

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Combat Stress

"Combat Stress, Tommy Shepherd, A K A, U F O vapes"

"You know? some don't make it back from war, Some of us live with it for the rest of our lives"

"The real heroes will always be in our memory and our hearts"

"If you need to talk to someone please do, writing musical lyrics down helped my splintered mind full of combat duty"

Trigger finger itchin’, but the war’s in my head now,
Sand in my boots, but the demons in my veins.
They told us we’d be heroes, but the real nightmare’s when the lights go down,
Now I’m just a ghost in the rearview, haunted by the ones we left slain...

Bullet scars map my journey, but the silence after the fire’s the worst,
Night terrors got me flinchin’ when the sun goes down, like a curse.
I’m sippin’ on straight rage, tryna drown the static in my skull,
Every sounds an I E D—click—and I’m back in the jungle...

Remember my buddy Tony, he laughed ‘til the shrapnel found his chest,
Now his voice plays on loop in my cranium like a messed-up mixtape, no rest.
The sergeant said, “Hold steady,” but the triggers in my dreams,
I’m a soldier in my sleepwalk, no rank, just screams...

They gave me a medal, but it’s heavy as guilt,
I trade it for cocaine, ‘til the hallucinations mute.
My girl says, “You ain’t here,” and she’s right—wherever “here” is,
I’m a veteran of the mind’s war, my psyche’s a charred kiss...

Tryna fold into civvy life, but the chaos won’t let go,
I clock the 3 PM like it’s patrol, watchin’ for a foe…
…who ain’t there, just echoes of the gunfight, the “AMBUSH!” in the static,
My therapist says, “Breathe,” but my lungs got shot full of shrapnel phatic...

Then a car backfires, sharp as a gunshot, and the coffee I'm making is instantly forgot,
I'm dropped back into that sun-bleached alleyway, where I'm pointing my weapon at a kid I had shot...

No, it wasn't a kid, just the heat playing tricks on my vision, the mission was simple, a territorial prison,
but the static in my head is a vivid remission, and I'm back in the filth and the moral derision...

I’m poppin’ pills like the enemy choppers, down, till the morning after glow,
The peace they promised? Nah, the drugs won't let go,
I’m a walking soldier, fuze lit, head split,
One wrong word, and I’m back in the mud, prayin’ to a god I don’t know...

The nightmares wear dog tags, their names I can’t recall,
But their blood’s on my hands, and it’s a debt that I can’t atone for,
I’m a gangsta with a .45 and a soul split in two,
The streets don’t scare me—nothing scares me accept the man I see in the mirror…

The tick-tock clock on the wall is a time bomb, a silent percussion that's shaking my mind, son,
it’s a metronome counting the moments 'til I find some kind of solace, but I come up none...

Now I'm back in my kitchen, the coffee is cold, a story my forty-one-year-old body has told,
I'm gripping the counter, a sight to behold, a veteran, hero, whose spirit's been sold...

I'm a ghost in the body I'm leasing, my soul is in pieces, my sanity's ceasing,
the enemy's me, and my anger's increasing, while everyone's smiling and calling me decent...

When the only battle left is the one that I can’t leave, you wouldn't even believe...

haunted, and still yellin’ “COVER!”