It’s got my name on it

by | Apr 28, 2009 | Stories | 0 comments

It’s so beautifully crafted
Tipped copper, brass and there’s lead
Seven six two
Or so it is said

Full metal jacket
Well, it is dressed to kill
Makes a big hole
Seven six two mil

Packed full of cordite
To give it Gods speed
Its got my name on it
My fate is to bleed

Into its mag
Pushed home on the spring
Sitting there waiting
Its sad song to sing

Its got my name on it
So clear I can see
It will do its sad duty
And finish in me

The round with my name on it
Is really quite old
Was made in the Urals
Through hands five times sold

They all made a profit
The dealers of doom
Trading in death
They hide in the gloom

A good round will last
If stored properly
The one with my name on
Is stamped one nine eight three

Twenty-five years it waited
That makes it real old
Was first manufactured
During the war that was cold

The round with my name on it
Its older than me
How f****d up is that
A mad irony

Flak jacket and kevlar
Weighed down like a tank
The kit looks rite ally
But really its w**k

The ragh**ds were restless
They sent us to see
Oh s**t can’t say that
It isn’t PC

There cramped in the mag
My round it wants out
Awaiting its turn
To go up the spout

Basra the place
And this is the hour
I’ll drink of the cup
But oh God it’s sour

See, I am only nineteen
And for leave I can’t wait
But the round has my name on it
And that is my fate

Out of the warrior
This warrior bursts
I stumble and fall
Oh God how it hurts

I dust myself off
And rise on one knee
I see the young boy
And he can see me

I squint down the sight
The training kicks in
Take his life first
It isn’t a sin

No sound now at all
No commands can I hear
No thought or emotion
No joy love or fear

The round with my name on it
Is closing the ground
Destiny rushes
Faster than sound

Full metal jacket
Seven six two
Ploughed into my forearm
And turned it to goo

The young boy is falling
No armour had he
Shot by a young soldier
Down on one knee

T’was fatal for one
This duel in the sun
Mohammad Azize
He’s some mothers son

That round with a name on
From this squadies gun
No malice had fired it
Its how wars are won

Two boys less than twenty
Fate loaded and aimed
Two rounds had their names on
One died and one maimed

It had your name on it
There nowt to do mate
Wait ‘til you meet it
And leave it to fate


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