The medics are working frantically
to stem the flow of blood,
sterile dressing’s crimson red
as they fight to stop the flood,
a boy just barely twenty
blown to pieces by a mine,
in a country far away from home
his life’s now running out of time.

“And the men back home who sent him there
they just don´t give a toss,
Cos there´s more where he has come from,
his death to them is not a loss”

The medics have not slept for days
as they tend the constant stream
of the wounded, blind and dying
amidst the crying and the screams,
the Quartermaster’s ordered
another batch of body bags,
plasma, blood and dressings,
and for the coffins, another twenty flags.

“And the men back home who sent them there
they just don´t give a toss,
cos their agenda´s more important
than the counting of the cost”