The M00dy N00bs

Oh, by the way:

It's called Letter to a Winner.

A winner today
There you stand, trophy in hand          
In majestic way

High above the crowd
Virtuous, victorious     
And above all, proud

Clearing battlefields
With your might, your sense of right               
You’ve earned battle’s yields

But for every winner a loser comes along
Every right negated by a wrong
The cost of a winner’s pride
Some poor loser’s must have died

For every being to take a medaling place
Someone else must have lost the race
For the sake of crowning a local hero
Some competitor had to go

Congratulations
For joining the winning side                    
Our new cup-bearer, with pride               
I salute your win                         
Wrote the loser as he died


Or, you can choose this:

The gold are flowing to your head     
Rattling against your skull     
The gold are dead     
Life is deadly dull     

More is less, more or less     
When you try to impress     
By hiding the gold in fancy costumes     
Sending them to untimely dooms     

The gold are dead
They don’t work no more
The gold were spent
When we marched off to war

The gold are dead
Bloodstained red
To death they bled
Fortified with lead
Lead-poisoned instead
The gold are dead

Gold are for buying
The stuff that you need
But the gold are dying
To death they bleed

You can paper your birdcage
With shavings of gold
And bits of dollar bills
What was wealth in days of old

The gold are dead
Said the economic reporter
More is less is lessening
Gold’s reach is getting shorter

The gold are dead
Fortified with lead
Lead-poisoned instead
Off with their head
The red queen said
The gold are dead

Gold are for buying
What you wish you had
The gold are dying
Which is bad, bad, bad

At the end of the rainbow
What have you got
A pot full of gold
Worth little more than an empty pot

The gold are dead
Buying power’s down
We ran that gold
Right into the ground

The gold are flowing to your head
Rattling against your skull
The gold are dead
Life is deadly dull



Or this, called The Little Bomber that Could
Just act calmer
We've got bombers
No need to go berserk
Just watch and see
His majesty
Old Uncle Sam at work

They are smaller
We are taller
And we have got it all
Just drop the bomb
And recite the psalm
And then watch them fall

The little bomber that could
Did as all good little bombers should
Recited I think I can
Fifty bajillion times
Then took that many lives

They suffer the pain
And we get the gain
We take all the oil
They fight back
So they get sacked
And their clothes are soiled

The little bomber that could
Did as all good little bombers should
Recited I think I can
Fifty bajilion times
Then took that many lives


Or this, called A Friend to the End
Boom boom, bang bang
The sad old gun sang
As another soul fell into the void
And with the call of the gun
Underneath the setting sun
Our troops are officially deployed

Harmonizing on the battlefield
As they pierce enemy soldier’s shields
Fighting men fall indiscriminately
The bullets whiz past
As the end comes, “at last”
Death will come knocking imminently

A gun cried out to the west
The bullet flying as if blessed
Weaving towards its end goal
I, gun in hand, sink to my knees
Struggling to grasp the grim reality
That I will be part of the death toll

As I look up at the horses rushing past
The kings call out, “Charge!”
And forge their way into the fray
Deafened by the cannon’s blast
That sank into the barge
Tossing the sailors into the sea
To die today along with me

My comrades pass by in a rush
Those who trained with me
Onward they fly, ever so silently by
They shout their battle cries in a hush
Oblivious to an all-too-true reality
Here I lie, silently fading away
As my friends head out to “play”

Feebly, I wave my gun in the air
A red flag to anyone who cares”
We’ve got a man down,” the paramedic cries,
“We’ve got to save him before he dies”
They carted me off, and after a time
I left this sad old world behind

“What about the body?”
The nurse asked hesitantly
“Get him out of the way
There’ll be more in here today,”
The paramedic was heard to say
“Hey, Nurse, clean up that stretcher,
Get it ready for the next one
Before the other side’s won

Leaving me for the flies to eat
The survivors hang their heads in defeat
We let another one slip away
Oh, whatever will the king say?
We’re sure to have hell to pay
The king can’t be sympathetic anymore
Now that we’ve lost another war

They rushed home to bring the news
Leaving me behind, gun at my side
Laying on the ground
For everyone to admire
And somewhere across the field
Lay a dead man whose gun
Had been just recently fired

Surveying the scene, the two dead men
There’s only one conclusion to be reached:
A gun is a man’s best friend
After all, it’s with him at his end

Unless you have any input, and it happens to agree with mine, I'm going to make up some chords for something from that and get it on our EP...which I think has been unofficially named after the song "The Whistler Got Drunk." InPraiseOf seems to have named one of our albums "The Whistler Got Sober," maybe that's what it should be called?