No one understands war unless they've actually been,
You can only ever imagine the horror that they've seen,
It's like a private country club you look at them and know,
Those men fought for their country all that time ago,
Although you leave the land were the blood was spilt, you can never truly erase the terror and the guilt,
You wake up each morning sweating reliving what you've done,
You pick up you daughter but feel your ice cold gun,
You never really move on you always live in praise,
But wonder was it worth it for all the endless days,
The days of senseless marching the endless pile of dead,
The wire there to help you that cages you instead,
A soldier is always a soldier no matter where he might roam,
He's always part of the army no matter whose house is home,
Winters never as beautiful, the summer does not seem,
To have the same affect on him, the sun has lost its gleam,
Spring isn't nearly as joyous and in autumn they will not care,
Whether the leaves are falling from the great maple and the fir,
No country side will be the same no matter where they roam,
For soldiers will remain in the trench that they once called home.
