Across the camp they huddle up
Check their gear, plot the route
Or just get off shift and contemplate
Going for a jog, or to the gym.
Day two-hundred and whatever,
Stopped counting. Stopped thinking.
Tortured by boredom, surrounded by death
Stopped dreaming. Or stopped praying.
The only thing worth praying for
Around here day-to-day is the sick
Sensation of knowing some poor sucker’s
Time is up today – you just hope it’s not you.