Mountains of Afghanistan

For the brave heroes serving in the middle east

Yesterday I spent on patrol,
12 hours on look-out from a sandy foxhole.
Spent last night alert with no contemplation of time,
Drowning out the screams with thoughts of a nursery rhyme.

I carry my family's picture in my breast pocket,
But all I have is my surname to remain me of it.
My father he smiles at me though our feud had never ceased,
My mother well she just wants me back in one piece.

God I can't remember the last time I had sex,
What would I give for a woman with her kisses on my neck.
The wonders of this war can drag a soul out to the brink,
Pulverise it, pummel it and allow it to sink.

WE LIVE TO DREAM OF HOME.

Imagine the worst place you have ever seen,
Trust me a s**t day out in Skegness is undoubtedly pristene.
Here comes the drop of supplies thudding to the ground,
With ammo charged and abundant guilt I am forever hellbound.

Child stares blankly down the barrel of a gun,
Soldier dared to shoot to break the silence in the sun.
Limbs and bodies piled up with skin burnt by f**s,
Call them heroes send them home in coffins drapped in flags.

WE DREAM OF THOUGHTS OF HOME.

Now my head is pounding to the thumping of a drum,
Heed the call to arms to overcome the boredom.
We stand together united for the cause,
Daring to bellow out "We are Gordon Brown's w****s!"

My body cold my eyes strain to see,
The disheartening smell of death gathering all over me.
With one last thought and one last breath,
The world embraces my name for that is all that is left.

NO MORE I DREAM OF HOME.