Look out of the window,what do you see?Sorrow, pain and misery.People on the street,nowhere to go,What can be done?Doesn't anyone know?Reality is what we face, hope disappearing without a trace.Reality is what we face,Welcome to the human race.

Upon that early summer morna young boy soldier was to be bornHail hail, said his father with a cigarme and this boy ought to go far.As each and every summertime passedhis father knew his childhood wouldn't lastAs the letter came through the doorhe knew his son was off to warHis mamma cried, his father sobbedthe young boy's innocence was to be robbedWhy oh why? said his fatherbut it wasn't long for that front lineThe shell...