twelve hours late oops

I do not know your name, but I know you died

I do not know from where you came, but I know you died Your uniform, branch of service, it matters not to me

Whether Volunteer or Conscript, or how it came to be

That politicians failures, or some power-mad ambition

Brought you too soon to your death, in the name of any nation You saw, you felt, you knew full well, as friend and foe were taken

By bloody death, that your life too, was forfeit and forsaken

Yet on you went and fought and died, in your close and private hell

For Mate or Pal or Regiment and memories never to tell It was for each other, through shot and shell, the madness you endured

Side by side, through wound and pain, and comradeship assured

No family ties, or bloodline link, could match that bond of friend

Who shared the horror and kept on going, at last until the end We cannot know, we were not there, it’s beyond our comprehension

To know the toll that battle brings, of resolute intention

To carry on, day by day, for all you loved and hoped for

To live in peace a happy life, away from bloody war For far too many, no long life ahead, free of struggle and pain and the gun

And we must remember the price that was paid, by each and every one

Regardless of views, opinions aside, no matter how each of us sees it

They were there and I cannot forget, even though I did not live it I do not know your name, but I know you died

I do not know from where you came, but I know you died.

by Kenny Martin © 2003