*Untitled*

[MysticalBurrito]

There’s a soldier on the battlefield,
He’s got a wife at home and a baby on the way.
Protecting the people, and the country he loves.
Putting his life on the balance waiting for courage to fight.
Raise his gun, shot and fire.
Raise the flag, burn and shout.
His youngest friend is the drummer boy,
First to walk,
First in line,
And the first to die.
Carrying the flag not letting it touch the ground.
Defeat isn’t on the plan tonight.
He’s given the job to watch a prisoner,
A man about his age.
Lightin’ up a smoke and offering him one.
The man doesn’t know any English but he sure as hell tries to speak to him,
In his rough translation he tells of his children at home and his wife.
He tells him of his job and how little pay he got,
How his children were growing so much without him there to see.
He asked the American if he had children or even a wife,
And he answers telling him about the Mrs. And the baby on the way.
The soldier is replaced and he goes back out.
The cries of children haunt him tonight.
The sound of the gun fire and the yells of names,
The images of his best friend who fell dead beside him,
And the man in the jail cell with the pictures and a tale to tell.