Van of Valor

The Walk That Never Ended

An Introduction to Our Next Van of Valor Track

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They called him dead on that hill.

But the N.V.A. woke him up—hands bound, blindfold on, a hole in his chest, and a forty-day march ahead through Vietnam’s bleeding jungle.

Two Southern boys beside him. One—Sergeant First Class Salley—got rice. He got the peel and the scorn. Because they said a Black man couldn’t lead. Propaganda thorns.

They beat them both daily for refusing to swap ranks. Until the lies got so heavy, they broke Salley’s will. He leaned on a shattered shoulder. Then they made him dig his brother’s grave on that trail—alone.

Monsoon. Fever. Ghosts in the banyan roots. Banana thread stitching his own skin. He became the wound, the walk, the spirit slipping.

Seven hundred fifty-five days of prison still waited. But that first march—forty days of mud and blood, with a sucking chest wound and a ghost beside him—that was the first hell.

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This song isn’t just about survival. It’s about what survival costs. About the brothers we carry and the graves we’re forced to dig. About the silence that follows, and the stories that finally break through.

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🎵 Exclusive Van of Valor Music

Our next release honors every POW who walked through hell and came home with half a story—and every family still waiting for the rest.

“When they say ‘Prisoner of War’… they don’t know the half.”

Dropping soon—for those who remember the walk.

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If you or a veteran you know is struggling, dial 988 then press 1. Or text 838255.

40 Days of Mud and Blood

The jungle was bleedin’, the firebase was through

The jungle was bleedin’, the firebase was through

They called me dead on that hill, but N.V.A. woke me new

Hands bound tight, a blindfold on my eyes

Hands bound tight, a blindfold on my eyes

Started walkin’ with a hole in my chest, under ‘Nam skies

Two Southern boys, one more American face

Two Southern boys, one more American face

Sergeant First Class Salley stood in that damned place

They fed him more rice, gave me the peel and the scorn

They fed him more rice, gave me the peel and the scorn

Said a Black man can’t lead, from a propaganda thorn

They beat us both daily, for the rank we wouldn’t swap

They beat us both daily, for the rank we wouldn’t swap

‘Til the lies got so heavy, they broke my brother’s top

He leaned on my shoulder, though mine was shattered bone

He leaned on my shoulder, though mine was shattered bone

Then they made me dig his grave, on that trail alone

Oh, forty days of mud and blood, and a chest that wouldn’t fill

Forty days of mud and blood, and a chest that wouldn’t fill

Carried a bullet in my back, and a soul they couldn’t kill

Monsoon came sloshin’, fever in my brain

Monsoon came sloshin’, fever in my brain

Talked to ghosts in the banyan roots, kissed my wife in vain

I stitched my skin with banana thread, learned to breathe in sips

Stitched my skin with banana thread, learned to breathe in sips

Became the wound, became the walk, felt the spirit slip

The camp rose from the jungle, bamboo, wire, and star

The camp rose from the jungle, bamboo, wire, and star

Two years of night waited behind that prison bar

Seven hundred fifty-five days, still to pay

Seven hundred fifty-five days, still to pay

But the walkin’ was the first hell, they’d put upon my way

Yeah, I walked for Salley… walked for the ones who fell…

Walked with a suckin’ chest wound… straight through Vietnam’s hell…

And when they say “Prisoner of War”… they don’t know the half…

Of forty days marchin’… with a ghost and a bloody laugh…