Florist Shops

Florist Shops Florist shops, all out of flowers. Young people chanting peace and love, not war. Last time I came home, they spit on me Everywhere I look, I see a black hurst Filling up green fields with all my brothers, My brothers in Arms, and all I can do is pray, Is pray that one day it won’t be me. This jungle ain’t no joke Trying to stay alive On bullets and smoke. Counting down the days until I can leave this place. I’m fighting, fighting for me and him The nights all belong to them Foreign soil, its all foreign to me Missing my family over here Surrounded by the enemy everywhere And back home, florist shops All out of flowers, for you and me.