The footprints
sink deep
into the vile mud,
the hollow wind blows
cold loneliness,
gun burst muffles the cries.
The troops have an order
they march in the filth,
a deserted village
in sight.
She runs outside,
running to greet them.
She falls to the ground
the dirt hits her face.
"Where thou head?"
"The frontline's not there!"
Fragments of shells
lay mixed with the hay.
The house is
ravaged,
the fence is all
wrecked,
her last gasp for help,
a cry to the soldiers.
She asks once again
"Where thou head?"
"Why do you leave us?"
The troops have an order
they march in the filth,
cold wind keeps blowing.
One soldier breaks
up the line,
he runs up to her,
drops on his knees,
tears running down
his masculine cheeks.
"Forgive us, if may you,
forgive us the traitors
we leave our soil
our souls are surrendered,
we leave you behind
but we shall come back."
The troops march on further
they don’t look abaft,
they have an order...
Only footprints are left
deep in the mud,
gun burst gets closer...
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