Only a soldier,
Whose tears left unshed,
Stronger than the battalion,
For which he has led.
Someone's dear son,
Or maybe a daughter,
Each man they have lost,
They fight even harder.
Their days are not numbered,
But as they're marching and crying,
They hope by the Grace of God,
That they might be dying.
While they're hunched in their tent,
Huddled alone,
They're dreaming of comfort,
And thinking of home.
But they fight for us now,
Younger and older,
And we never think twice but to say,
He was only a soldier.
