Not for me the rolling hills
Of a green and pleasant land
But trudging through a muddy field
Or sprayed by wind-blown sand

I do not rest in crisp clean sheets
Laid on a feather bed
Just the harshness of the earth
On which to lay my head

I do not have the luxury
Of breakfast on a tray
Waiting for my mind to clear
Before I start my day

My sleep might last for just one hour
Then shattered by the sounds
Of screaming men and constant noise
Of guns and mortar rounds

No gentle drive to work for me
Or bus ride to the door
No coffee breaks or flexi-time
For I’m a man of war