I see the old and infirm man shuffling along the street,
Wrapped inside an overcoat, no shoes on his feet.
I hear these rambling words as he sinks down to his knees,
Is this the same old man who fought to keep us free?
Chorus:
Why am I rejected, please tell me what I've done,
All I did was fight so hard to ensure we won.
All those broken promises, we thought were carved in stone,
They promised "Homes fit for heroes and gave us heroes-fit for homes"
I stop to help the old man up, but he pushes me away,
His pride is still intact, yet all I sense is decay.
I stand back and wonder as he fixes me with a stare,
And I spot those rusted medals, that prove no-body cares.
Why do I feel so bad I ask? You bear a nations guilt,.
It's upon the blood of men like me, this free world is built,
We were promised a heroes welcome, do you know what they gave?
A handshake and a new suit for the fallen, flowers on the grave.
We sit and talk, it breaks my heart as he tells his tale
How maybe the dead were luckier, how he wished he'd fell
I couldn't help feeling his sadness but there's no bitterness there,
From one so used to giving to a world that doesn't care.
