|The old man fills his days out on this planet
Haunted by the fear they'll never end
Remembering the sounds of many battles
In some far off land he'll never see again
The body bags are filled and lined up waiting
For the one last ride, the one that takes them home
The one that leaves the eyes with tears a-shedding
The lucky ones are here, they're going home.
Many are left behind, some for fighting
Some so battly scattered, no one can tell
Who they are, they're just so many pieces
Left behind, just litter on that hill.
These are the things that that old man remembers
As he sits and patiently whittles out his time
His memories of family now are dimming
But not the ones of buddies left behind.
War is hell they say, who never saw it,
In the old man's mind its fresh as new mown hay
He'll remember it each day left on this planet
And then he'll take it with him to the grave.
Copyright@2003 - Adrain Desaire