They shrink inside their coats
Their voices stuck in their throats
They want to scream in pain
They walk through the rain
Their trench coats a pitch black
Hope is something they lack
They walk a dead man's march
Its hard for even them to watch
They stare at there muddy shoes
As they silently sing the blues
It echoes in there heads
As they long for warm beds
The line seems to be endless
All of them alone and friendless
Empty trench coats marching on
All of them already gone
An empty husk
That will be gone by dusk.