The Commander-in-Chief Speaks To The Troops

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden,
along with the desert sand

there’s gonna be a little death,
here a death, there a death,
everywhere a death.

You won’t find roses growing in the desert,
there are no silver platters out there.
I could promise you the moon

but the desert ain’t no better than moon rocks,
still waters run deep
so you’d better learn to swim in blood.

I beg your pardon
I never promised you a rose garden
because the Rose Garden belongs at the White House.