It is not a sin my friend,

Though it's a rule.

And it's a rule I disobeyed,

I forced this horrid fate upon myself.

There's nothing for it.

Once it's decided,

What will be, will be.

This is the cold and sodden day,

Which they've long waited for.

If it is cowardice to run, for my life

From a green and ready shell,

So I can keep fighting

So I can keep defending.

Then so be it.

My life for my country.

Shoot me.

Just please, please forgive me, my friend.

A gentle hand on mine,

Becomes a ten tonne weight on my chest,

And my name slips, from your lips so sweet.

A soldier, weary of death, asks for me.

But not now, no it's too early.

Too early.

The before gentle hand, becomes vice grip on mine.

Five more minutes are begged,

But only one is given.

On my bed he sits,

And I kneel before him,

While he avoids my gaze, looking down,

A tear on his cheek he wishes I couldn't see,

A hand of mine on his knee.

I can't promise him it'll be okay,

I can't promise that he'll be fine,

Because for all I know,

Tommorow he could be dead, lying cold,

With a knife in his gut.

I don't know what's going to happen,

A stare from red and watery eyes,

And a stutter from shaking, trembling lips,

And I hold him, close to me.

A kiss on his cheek,

My best friend,

I'm sorry,

I've long accepted my fate.

The before gentle hand, tightens, vice grip on mine,

And is regretfully pushed away,

For the last and final time.