Quiet not a single sound,
We line in groups straight on the ground.
For if we make a single peep,
The monster there our soul he’ll keep.
So many thoughts of what will be,
If that monster targets me.
A rifle’s shot will mercy be,
But what if that’s not my destiny?
I could befall all those torturous tales,
Of what they do to the fickle and frail.
And so I muster up my strength,
To show I’m strong and tall in length.
I could be of help and dump the loads,
Or I could serve in other modes.
It’s each day a survivors woe,
Not knowing what the day will hold.