". . .He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock.
He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop.
The silk from his reserve spilled out and wrapped around his legs.
And he ain't gonna jump no more.
Gory, gory, what a hell of way to die.
Gory, gory, what a hell of way to die.
Gory, gory, what a hell of way to die.
He ain't gonna jump no more.
The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome.
Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones.
The canopy became his shroud, he hurtled to the ground.
And he ain't gonna jump no more. . ."
Murphy sang as he walked down the road in a rowdy manner. Maybe he would see combat in this life. He looked down the expanse of the empty street and wondered what happened to the rest of his squad. Maybe he would run into other Rangers here. . . Or maybe not. He looked down at the leather chest piece of his new armor/weapon. He looked at the yellow tab above his heart that read Ranger. In another world he had a family he would never see again, good soldiers he would never fight beside, smiling faces he would never see.
"The days he lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind.
He thought about the girl back home, the one he left behind.
He thought about the medicos and wondered what they'd find.
And he ain't gonna jump no more." He sang in a mournful tone.