• Smoke flew from the gun
    The bullet flew fast, true to its aim
    The one whom fired it
    Staying silent, watching it fly straight
    His eyes, covered by dust
    A helmet upon his head pulled tight
    The bullet flew true
    Hitting its mark, the figure falling.

    The soldier stood, a tear in his eye
    Hating to see another man die
    But twas the job of a sniper to shoot
    Fighting in battles, covered in soot
    Their guns were their swords,
    Their helmets their shields
    Always close to the weapon they wield.