Lives in his own hell, never escaped lives in

Shelters, warmed by hot air grates, hot coffee

Underpass talks of the medals he won cries

That he is not dead

Walking the road between long bin and hell cat

Saw little ones barely a live hungry dying

Ripping my soul from my body

Stopped to help

Screams came from

Blackness who made

You God let them die

A stream of fire laid pieces of kids every where

Laughter rings in the night haunts my dreams

Quad forties fill the woods

Flames purify the earth

Ideals left in marsh with dead

Kids still just as dead

I cry

Scourge of life lives in the defiled of hunger

Camp is cold the knife is sharp

Break a neck reaction before he carves my heart

Child will never dream, saved me lost him

Watch the children of the world on the escape

Hunger of the innocence lost in the fields of ideals

Pray for the pain to be less their minds to be clear

Hands to console their lives of fear and war revenge

Road is long sleep comes after many bottles of whiskey

and anything else that will block out memories

Not so many left like rats they hide from view

Sent to their hell by all of you pride not under my bridge

Not in my hospital, just like the kids a quarter a day

So many, so many, only a few left to save

In the wind I hear the screams death

They are silent without a whimper they are all gone

Not a sound I just pour another whiskey down

Sending nickels and dimes to clean my mind