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We find ourselves cowering from their RPG's
Grown fighting men being brought to their knees

Kandahar is where we are so many miles from our homes
Trying to keep focused but inside we steadily roam

Incessantly we hear the zipping of bulleted lead
Invisible to the eye, for they can bring us near to dead

A silence suddenly falls amidst clouds of ashen grey
As we suffer a direct hit, modern man finally plays

In my peripheral I hear a scream, that I've never heard before
Then I hear a pleading by weaponry in maiming score

Upon the dust lifting, I view a blood stained earth
Limbless my colleague is, is what we're fighting worth

He's nineteen years old, so many miles from his home
His body torn and burnt, where does his mind now roam

"Medics, medics" now deafen the surrounding screams
Shell shocked we are, grown fighting men beside crimson streams

Our tour of duty is now over, us fortunate return to our kin
As we remember he, our fallen, and their roaming in us within









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