He used to man a machine gun
But now it was years since the war
When he'd fought for King and country
In the mud and the blood and the gore

How many Bosche did you **** they would ask
In his understated way
He'd say I must have got several
Not many got away

Sometimes on a Saturday night
Down at the Hart with a beer
It all came back to him like a wave
He'd stand and stare and stare

Then he was gripping his gun again
It was like he'd suddenly snapped
With his back to the wall he'd be shouting
Rat a tat, rat a tat tat

After a while he'd go quiet
Finish his drink alone
Darts flew again, cards were dealt
The old soldier walked back home

Next time I go to the ocean
I will see you there
Your voice will calm the restless waves
The wind will play with your hair

The sand will accept our footprints
Our steps will be in time
Our gaze will scan the horizon
Your hand will be in mine

And when we are tired we will turn for home
The light will fade at the end of the day
We'll leave our footprints on the beach
And the tide will wash them away

At this time of year Winter's grip is left behind
In every corner little signs of Spring we find
Birds are pairing up, snowdrops brave the chill
Life in the earth begins to stir
And yes, I love you still

He loved me like he loved the rain.
Reveled in the
idea of me,
ran from my reality.
Begged for my monsoons
to replenish barren lands -
starving for affection.
So I gathered myself up -
pulled intimacy from the
depths of my seas.
Let it billow in my chest until,
too heavy for me to bear,
I poured myself empty.

But he ran.
Hid behind double-paned, shatterproof
glassy eyes.
I poured and raged and begged
for him to let me in.
But he stayed
safe in his silence until
my storm had passed
and I was left dripping -
pleading hands and
tear stained kisses beaded up
and rolled off his facade -
collecting in puddles at his feet.