In the the night

In the still of the night the air is cool as it touches your soul.

The silhouettes of sand as time does a Sundance and the winds of change cry from an echoing past.
On the plains of the Serine Getty,
Only a fool listens to the jokes of the Jackal,
As the hyenas laugh and play,
As the hunger games being,
We don’t know if we will win or lose,
Only God can choose,
As our widows and children sing,
There sad, sad, songs,
But does the light lives on,
Yet our children are born every day.,
Lost and alone.
But soon move on,
Then the elderly are gone,
Who has done no wrong,
As the silhouettes of Time,
Dance on and on,
As we beat our drums of war,
No more,
The Fallon hero will die at your front door.
Some in bed, at home, or even with a w***e,
Take them in, Oh dear Lord,
Sinners and saint,
And forgive then of their many sins.
The vultures are ready to feed on our young if need be,
As some are taken from there cradles,
Not knowing if a hawk or eagle,
As the life on the savannah,
Is lost to the silhouettes of time,
To yesterday’s winds of change,
As the silhouettes of sand dance through out time,
All through out the long and often sad, and lonely night,
When the young and old are left in fright,
With no peace in sight,
As we pass the beggar man with his war medals in hand,
Lost in the streets of home,
Cold and alone.
Who will die in yesterdays Uniform,
With even his soul torn,
Born two countries over,
And will die but not in a foreign land,
Maybe not even a drunk,
Just lost and alone,
Too pore so who cares,
As the preacher preach,
And get rich from the trash we pass on the streets,
As hero, and saints,
Are tempted to drink,
Some will leave there dinner in the sink,
You never know were or when we will breath our past.