A bag of string,
You're no more than that.
Yet, you are between me and the
great fall.
An unconventional beauty,
You've not done me wrong so far.
I sit in front,
behind a French heart.
Please Darling, do not run from the fray.
Face them head on,
With teeth bared.
All 282 of them.
Glide over scarred land barren,
And men, living with souls departed.
Though I pity them,
I pity us too.
Four brothers I've lost to the Hun,
Twenty to you,
Just trying to lift you from the ground.
They call you an unwieldy bitch,
And so much is true.
They just hold you wrong is all,
Nor caress you right.
A gentle touch,
A sweat word and a prayer,
As with all the ladies.
You were my bird,
For now and forever.
We dodged death
day after day,
Til' one fateful.
When in sky grey cast,
A burst of Hun hate,
Tore your heart away.
You screamed hurt.
That metallic groan,
The cry of fabric torn,
The wail of wooden bones
smashed.
Our screams filled the skies,
Not that anyone cared.
Together we burned,
you and I,
But now we fly free.
No hell below,
Only skies clear never ending.
Just you and me,
My bag of string.