My Son, My Little Soldier

There he stands,so handsome and tall.
Uniformed ironed, shoes polished shine.
Proud to call this soldier mine.
Of to war he goes, not toy soldiers anymore.
King and country he must fight, my heart may stop this very night.
My baby born, is still to young, to carry a gun.
Please bring him home, please to my arms, where he does belong.
this game is no longer fun, damn this shit is real.

Letter comes telegram style, delivered by hand no less.
grief is etched upon the wretch with the letter in his hand.
My Son, my boy, my soldier born, will no longer becoming home.
War has taken my guiding light, my breath, my heart, my very life.

War,Is not fun, War is not a game,a game of chess, my son one of the pawns.
Soldiers stand so tall and proud, so raise your hand and salute, your freedom, your safety, your way of life.
This is a soldiers plight, do not forget the blood that is shed,
so you may sleep soundly in your bed.

Queen, King, Country all.
Still does not bring my little soldier home.
Never ever forget the sacrifices been made, the price that has to be paid.
but tonight before you sleep, just get on your knees and pray, that another soldier is not lost this night.