Grew up as a child normally, until that day came.
Bombs were dropt all around everyone died, yet he survived.
All alone searching corpses, seeing parts of his most beloved.
Crying with his mothers head on his lap, soldiers came forced him away from home, or the graveyard seems more suitable to say.
The young boy who had lost his most beloved, was forced to march.
With a gun in a hand took away the smiles and brought forth gravestones and grieving mothers.
For every painful tear they shed he wished greatly that he were dead.
With a gun in his hand and the bloody land under his feet he took his life wishing for this pain to end, but it was only the beginning he was brought to hell for eternal grieving.
was inspired by my great grandfathers story of when he was a boy in world war two
