You’re here to say goodbye to a British soldier that has fell,
the Padre is reading verses, from the book of heaven and hell.
Telling us that they walked in the shadow of the valley of death,
their god following in their footsteps, until there last breath.
You pray that their spirit goes back to the ones they love,
back to their homeland, like a hand into a glove.
The 105 gun fires a shell into the Afghanistan sky,
the hairs on the back of your neck raise, and there’s a tear in your eye.
The bugler plays the last post, standing nearby, as the half mast flag of our nation, blows gently in the evening sky.
Remove the bullet Watching the sun go down, another day ends from the heat,
the day just begins for the Insurgent, he’s got IED’s to bury and seat.
He is watching and waiting, for the British soldier to pass by his position,
his rifle made ready, command wire attached, hoping to spoil his mission.
The world is on its knees,
as these extremists, cause havoc and unease.
We will win this war on terror, and remove the bullet from his gun,
remove the threat from this country, and try to educate his sons.