My son’s goin
To a war zone
And nothing can make
Me feel better.
I thought in my way
I was doin ok
Till the Army
They sent me a letter.

Don’t worry it said
We know what to do when he’s dead
We’ll be there for him
When it matters.
He won’t be buried alone
For we’ll fly him home
We’ll be there when
Your life is in tatters.

Well my hands shook
As I tried not to look
At the letter
There in my hand.
My eyes filled with tears
As I fought down my fears
And I picked up my pen
To demand.

Give him armour to clink
And water to drink
When you take him
Out to a FOB.
Give him bullets to shoot
And a map of the route
When you send him
Out on a job.

Don’t leave him to write
To an Internet site
For the gear
He needs to take with him.
Don’t have him depend
On the charity of friends
To send him parcels
Filled with equipment.

When he’s put to the test
He will do his best
He doesn’t need
Another incentive.
In whatever he’ll do
He’ll work hard for you
He’s nothing if he’s
Not inventive.
So when my son is away
And fighting all day
And I’m sitting
At home disconnected.
I’d feel much more at ease
If you could just please
Make sure he’s equipped
And protected.

FOB = Forward Operations Base