The Bullets |Fly
Sitting in the trenches feeling forlorn
As the bullets fly amongst the mud and corn
In these fields that once were quiet and serene
Now rages hatred few have ever seen
Young boys, not men, barely out of their teens
Living off rations of dried beans
Have to suffer the fear of life or death each day
To take what action may come their way
A band of brothers joined at the hip it seems
They smell the fear, even in their dreams
Not that much sleep comes their way
As they try to stay alive to fight another day
Boys become men in such a short space of time
In amongst the blood and grime
Another bullet wings its way by
Get down low a voice will cry
Another day, another nightmare, when will it end
Just a band of boy’s with God their only friend
