There are degrees of horror, a soldier knows well
He keeps them inside and never will tell.
The death of an animal is the first one,
Accidental not meant, still shot with a gun.
The second a soldier, an enemy not friend,
With a pull of the trigger, his life will he end.
The third is much harder, the death of a mate,
For the rest of his life, that image he’ll hate.
The fourth is the start of his life’s torment,
The death of a woman, accidental not meant.
The fifth is a child, playing with a toy gun,
He thought it was real, a single shot-it was done.
And finally the nightmare that won’t go away,
A baby so young, never to grow another day.
To the end of his days, a soldier will take,
Those memories from Hell, for his country sake.
So if you spy an old soldier, look closer and see,
Scars he carries inside, forever they’ll be.