Dancing Through the Shrapnel

 
One time, a long time ago when I was young enough to dance through the shrapnel, I was aboard an airplane going from one battlefield to another battlefield in Vietnam, and every man on that plane but I knew that plane was in trouble.
 
There I was, grinning like the country bumpkin at a county fair amusement park girlie sideshow without a care in the world, and when the plane landed on some dirt airstrip somewhere between Hell and High Water, everyone but I was so relived to get there alive they could have kissed the ground.
 
Me, I had nothing more on my mind than a gin and tonic at the officers' club and the machine-gun bullets I would be facing the next day.
 
The point here is, I was in danger and I did not know it; just as you are in danger and do not know it.
 
Don't worry, the TV won't tell you about it.  Don't worry, you can be as stupid as you want to be.  Don't worry, the fool in the White House can't see past his nose.  Don't worry, Hell might not last forever.