Feeling drained by life's demands.
Dragging myself through the day.
Then the war machines arrive,
blowing everything away.
Life is hard without my dog.
Wish I could crawl in a log.
Strained and sore and feeling sick.
Wishing that I'd packed my lunch.
I thought I could grab a bite,
but now I'm crammed with this bunch.
My meals were made by my wife.
Guess now she was lost in strife.
Seeking meaning deep within.
Finding myself peace quite fast.
What's important is my son.
Was he with his mother last?
Did they make it to the ship,
or were they out eating dip?
My son is dead. He's no more,
But I have now a daughter.
Her family gone, that we're sure.
Lost, alone just a squatter.
Life is hard without a home.
What, one day, will end our roam?
feeds for ,