The wind is the essence freedom,
Nowhere it will not blow
It's brothers, the sun and the seasons
It's sisters, the rain and the snow
As a young man seeking adventure
You moved with rain and the sun
Forsaking a life filled with reason
For one that is ruled by a gun
Now they call you a soldier of fortune
Bible and gun in your hand
Fighting for money, not glory
For a cause that you don't understand
You see all the innocent dying
Witness torment and pain
Victims of war softly crying
Whilst the dogs of war, seek only gain
They call upon their soldier of fortune
To hide behind bible and cross
With death and suffering rising
Yet, they never count their soul lost
Young men that sought only adventure
become old men looking at stars.
Living with memories torment
Of victims who still bear the scars
For war is a strange arena
Building both fortune and fame
For the men that stand in the shadows
That have give the soldier his name
They call him a soldier of fortune
With pride and honour they stand
Hiding a soul and its torment
For
They know they have blood on their hands
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem