By Dmitri Lipson
Sometimes I am a Soldier,
I taste the dirt and lead,
on mountains formed
by the inglorious dead.
Sometimes I am a coward,
hidden from storms of steel,
men are torn apart
whilst daring to charge up hill.
Sometimes I am a monster,
I kill and I kill,
hundreds, hundreds
until iv’e drank up my fill.
Sometimes I am a soldier,
wrapped up in a flag,
tangled up in barbed wire
sent home in a bag.
