War is a slaughter house, a hell hole, a nightmare.
Maybe they told us those lies to help us,
Or maybe just so they didn’t have to do it themselves.
I try to think of my family when I get a chance,
But that’s impossible!

Perhaps they sent us here for our own good,
Or because we have done something wrong.
I’m only fifteen,
I’m not even meant to be here,
I only have myself to blame,
You can try running,
But that’s impossible!

The deafening silence of a man when he’s down,
Is enough to make a grown man cry.
Although, they said we should be honoured to do this,
And that everyone at home is proud.
I don’t see any funerals, or even a grand parade,
If I could I’d start a protest,
But that’s impossible!

It’s my turn on the front line,
My hands are like a tap,
I feel the adrenaline rush around me,
I can smell the fire in the distance.
I see a man in front of me,
I pull the trigger but the opposition beats me,
I wanted to be a hero,
But now that’s impossible!