There was a man laying in a ditch he paced around wondering were he was. Wondering if he'll ever be found. As he struggled to food walking home with no shoes he remembered back to when things were alright. Through the teardrops on the pages. He was a soldier a man who would gladly share his heart with open hands. They were winning battle but his heart was still more than he could bear. He left young family home. Looks at pictures through letters sent to war. Why have they grown. Every time he went to war He was batlling for them. With calyst hands he fought for all that he'd lost. No matter he say to himself now matter goes on i'll be home for them . Home to see his mother. Home to hold hisson. Home to give his wife a hug. Even when he lost a battle he won the war. As the battle moved on the memories would not stop. He fought for what he thought was the only thing he had. Its sad that he didn't know he had more. And at his funeral it was in the form of a 1,000 score. A thousand crowd. To tell him there proud. For him he died but on his memories fly. In our hearts on our mind. We always what youve done and how you fought to save us. Its bring us to the freedom weve received. Thank for being the one to die with a gun but survive in us.