Soldier's Fortune

Longing to hold onto

Whatever caring hand

Would take the risk

But this world

So full of the whisk-

Broken key-

Of the wreckage that my life

Is

Would bring me this end

Correctly with a gun in my hand,

"you're leaving to Iraq, my friend"

and I leave the love of my life

behind

with three weeks notice,

cut pieces of paper on the floor

that have to be arranged

by desperate lover's woe

whose curiosity implies

the interest not expressed before

when in complete silence,

among the room beside the bed

the two met for the last time.

The music, it was gone

all that remained was a heartbeat,

one two...

the last bullet shell falls.