With blood soaked uniforms,
They hung their weary heads,
Faces that wore the joys of laughter,
Now riddled and tortured by the dead.
Why did they do it?
It was not their battle to fight,
But it was their sons wives & daughters,
That cried into the night.

The fat cat bureaucrat,
Played games of self and stature,
But his blood currency was never paid,
He moves these pawns of war and destruction,
To manoeuvre a military blockade.

They despatched and butchered men,
not unlike them,
Brothers, fathers, husbands,
and best friends.
Now just bloodied twisted torsos,
As the night reached a grisly end.

Whizzbags exploded,
Littering the night sky,
Soldiers tossed and turned in torment,
As the days deeds weighed heavily on their minds.
Bombs banged around them,
As they clutched their weapons hardly alive,
Ducking from constant fire,
These Heroes had to survive!

They went on with the bloodshed,
with ideals of peace in their mind.
Their whole country was behind them,
"A victory for mankind!"
Their orders were clear as charcoal,
But they fought forever forward,
No chance of ever looking back.
The day full of 'courageous' killing.
The night haunted by frantic flashbacks.

The lucky ones are sent home half broken,
They paid with their minds and human flesh.
"Welcome home!" Said no one.
So much for living life afresh.
You may not know these hapless heroes,
With their banners and British flags unfurled.
But please salute these mighty Soldiers
For bringing us a better world!
To live in