The Soldier is as Beggar

The Soldier is as Beggar The soldier is as beggar, In value, stature, pride; Given up on living Inside; Closest friends that could be, Forgotten to the heat; Rawest meanest voices; Defeat; Alive with worthless labels; One down, one more appears; Endless scent of death’s rot, With tears; Machine gun held like oak cane, Slight tremble in the chest; Wind blown nervous look-out; Need rest; No thinking of the reaper, As fate we must succumb; Get on with the mission, Be numb; And when the hour comes ticking To dig the field of holes, Push pen to gravest paper; Lost souls.