Deep in a hole, a man with no arms,
His too poor to shine in courts, he will always beg for money
He, who once warred on Saratoga’s plains,
He sits there rubbing his scars and wooden leg,



Remembers the former days
He sees his money given to other people
They don’t share his money and he feeds on praise
Lost in the black of his mistake


Far from glare domes
He has peace but no wealth
He his removed from his place
He has a prod man’s grin and not a great man levee


Britain’s guns sold in a blazed
Flushed with conquest, the change came
They repelled the power and freedoms fabric raised
She leaves her soldier