Just an I.E.D. too many,
Guitar strings for trip wire,
Held up on the road
As they came under fire.
Third tour in Afghanistan
This time as a volunteer
Too soon really
To be back here.
Back home in Depot
In a state of despair
He puffed on wacky baccy as
He walked across the square.
No help for the broken squaddie
Just Service No Longer Required
Back to Civvie Street unwanted,
Not needed, you're fired.
Gone all the banter
From supportive mates
Slung out to the joys
Of the Austerity State.
And now six months later
He's sitting here in tears
Crushed by the flashbacks
From his busy army years.
We'd found him on the street
In the middle of the night
He'd set up a sentry post
Ready for a firefight.
He was looking for Taliban
Confused, lost, and alone
So we brought him back here:
We look after our own.
We don't know his story's ending
For he decided to move on,
Packed his bags, said goodbye,
And, leaving no address, was gone.
