When you become a P.O.W.
You find you've lost your liberty and more,
The guy with the gun tells you what to do,
As you yearn for freedoms you had before.
Your will to serve helps keep you alive,
Though sometimes you wish you were dead.
Tortures far beyond any normal mind,
And there's no safety, even your bed.
Bullets, barbwire, searchlights and sharp teeth,
Keep you in a place you don't wish to be.
The food is quite awful and sometimes it moves,
And you've no choice of what you hear or see.
The lucky are released and return home,
Though in their dreams their fate is unsure.
War may be hell, but confinement is worse,
Cause afterwards you're never as you were. |
