I sit alone in a room with four walls,
listening for a heli and waiting for my call.
Tour is long and tiring working day and night,
working with the locals trying to win the fight.
Locally Employed Civilians or LEC's their known,
working for their freedom to try and keep their home.
Barbers, Chefs and Tailors working for a dime,
the taliban will catch them and make them commit a crime.
Fearful eyes they watch you doing what you do,
inside the pain is overwhelming yet they don't have a clue.
Twelve whole years we have been here and what is there to gain,
too much pain and suffering to the families that still remain.
A second soldiers taken from us in this foreign land,
another sunset Vigil and a coffin held in someones hand.
No one knows who's next but they don't show any fear,
except for in their room as their best friend wipes away their tear.
Nine months cant come sooner until you are on the flight,
taking you back to Britain and green grass glowing bright.
Your families stood to greet you with hugs and a warming smile,
a brilliant celebration to welcome you home in style.
