(And that would be the piece that would tell us that we had entered into the last day.) Jumpin' Jehovahs, the battlefield is clear! Strange soldier that claimed he was a man at war. He was of no army; he was fighting all alone; And for no reason he was a man at war. He was standing in his foxhole; he was always on the defensive; When out of the smoke appeared an attractive figure. A head popped out of that torso, and much to his surprise He fell in love with its eyes. She was fifteen, Vogue magazine, What an odd place for her to be. Standing on that battlefield by the man at war. "Does she love me?", he screamed with bombs bursting in the air. "Does she love me? Will she understand me? I'm a man at war!" He was ambushed and shot up his legs and arms and head. Had to be amputated, he was rehabilitated; He was a man at war. And suddenly, and surprisingly, Their roles had been reversed: He was blessed and he was cursed; He was a man at war.