As
I look back for different ways
Of describing those frantic Bomb Alley days,
It's difficult to say how I really felt,
My thoughts disarrayed, the blows they've been dealt
Sat down below with war up above,
The fight for our people, for the freedom they love.
Hours
on end I dreamed and I thought,
First
Aid and escape routes, the things I'd been taught.
Praying and hoping for luck without end,
Praying and hoping for the peace God will send.
Being chirpy and happy so I would not think,
of being stuck in a tomb, on a ship that might sink.
War
was the reason, war is the word,
The lads from up top, their stories I heard,
Their injuries were true, they stood out a mile,
Their faces showed shock, yet they still raised a smile.
For me below deck, this is all that I saw,
For that is my place, my part in this war.
In
action so tense, when is it my turn?
To float in the sea and watch my ship burn,
To lie in the passage, helpless with pain,
To take the full blast, see no life again.
My feelings confused, a tormented mind,
But
soon when it's over, my senses I'll find.
And
any day now, I'll be home on the train,
But forever my conscience will suffer with pain,
The stained reminiscence, the stories I'll tell,
Those
bombs bringing terror, the missiles from hell.
The anger within me, I see families who cried,
For they were the sufferers, their loved ones have died.
So,
as I look back for different ways
Of describing those frantic Bomb Alley days,
sit and I think, and ask myself why?
People should suffer and young men should die.
Countries
must argue, why is this so?
Ask the politicians, they must know.
