Bang! Death, knew that's what I signed up for,

The buzz, the action, my duty, my honor,

Not a hero, but my country I defend,

And find myself in situations you can't comprehend.

Eastenders, the rent, the ironing,

Something's there, always on my mind, my child,

Squeezing my heart, churning my stomach, fighting in the wild,

Plug in the iron, carry on, try to mirror their courage.

Good evening, BBC Look North, ten o'clock news,

"the nine-hundred and thirty-third solider has died in the middle east, a bomb trying to diffuse,

Comrades paid tribute, united and uniformed,

His family has been informed."

Unquestioning, they follow orders, obey,

Fight leaders' battles of religion, politics, land and finance,

Yet isn't it ironic and funny,

How most do the job for more than just money?

Other than to their family and friends, they mean nothing,

To society, just a number,

But shouldn't we be grateful, that as they endlessly slumber,

Our nation is safe a little while longer?