The Keys


The keys swung on a brown leather strap, concealed as they hung behind an old faded map
Hid by the homeless man, who sat with his brew, hearing the keys tingle, as the chilly winds blew
He lived in an alley near where he was born, a soldier forsaken, now frail and forlorn
No one to love him, a life without glee. The sound of the keys’ tingle, kept him company.

Alone in the darkness, just before morning light
He relived those battles, an old soldier must fight

The question’s been asked, even centuries ago. “Where does an old and frail soldier go?
Where are those people who profess to be kind? Where is their love”, the old soldier sighs?
Words come too easy for you’ve heard many say, “I support our veterans”, day after day,
But how have you done that? the question belies. For it’s too late to help, when an old soldier dies.

Alone in the darkness, just before morning light
He relived those battles, an old soldier must fight

The chilly winds blew as he said his goodbyes. He felt God’s hand touch him, a soft breeze passing by
He prayed and rolled over, closed his weary eyes. His frail body gave up. He laid there and died.

Alone in the darkness, just before morning light
He relived those battles, an old soldier must fight

They gathered his body from the cold frozen ground. Nobody cared he’d been born in this town
Nobody wondered whose keys they heard chime. As the old man’s possession, rang out one last time.

Alone in the darkness, just before morning light
He relived those battles, an old soldier must fight
He heard the guns firing, the bombs bursting grew dim
And he knew that the cruel war, was finally over for him.
God Bless the old soldier, now it’s over for him.