Your Little Boy

Mother, your little boy is not coming home

He’s lying out in some muddy field, all alone.

Frostbite fingers falling off –

Sacrificed for the lapels of the old toffs.

Tears freezing etched rivers on

His cheeks that the sun once smiled on.

Those neat clothes you last saw him in

They now in tatters not fit for the bin.

And that family blood spills onto the earth

And we’ll never be able to measure it’s worth.

Mother, your little boy, he’s feeling cold

These weary legs are getting old

His breath is become ragged

And those arms sag

Can’t somebody save him?

From the raging dragon?

Sweet angels with their halos

Their tears like them be so lows

Your little boy, he ain’t coming home

His bones lie in a field all alone

He’s been lost and forgotten

Lying where the feet of thousands have trodden

Some resounding insignificance

In the chase of magnificence.

Your little boy, you won’t hear him no more

He never returned from the war

You’ll never hug him again

Never have him hold your hand

You’ll never see his family to be

They died with him in the LZ

He won’t hold your hand as you take your last breath

Never give you the gifts he gets

You’ll never hear his voice again

Things will never be the same

Your little boy, Mother, he’s cold.

Those weary eyes, they’re about to close.

 

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