Another hole six feet deep
I’ve forgotten how many it is this week
With calloused hands and weary bones
These people should not have died alone
Failed by every system
It all stems from a lack of quick decision
Instead it was just bitch and moan
Then pretend that it won’t come home
What a sad state of fact
When we have to admit how much we lack
But we were not the ones in charge
Those characters are still at large
Still my body is numb
I’m sick of counting from dawn ’til done
While hands shake from fear
And bodies are treated like gear
Single grave for every soul
Only applies when you have the dough
That is why are heads are low
We pay respect to those we know
Dig again into the mud
Parent, child, friend or love
Fractured by the sudden loss
Another precious life was crossed
Simon A Jackson - Writer 