The bullet

         The bullet was shot
the air was cold.
         The round was burning hot
but my hands were freezing cold.
         We have to fight all day
and we sleep and night.
         We march for miles
but we turn many diles.
         We take many breaks
but we cross many lakes.
         We lay to rest
but we never will do our best agine.
         For we have been shot
and so forth we bought our death.
         By the bullet
our life has come to an end.