War, and nothing is going on
I go into town to beg for cigarettes
I've always known your scent, but you've never been closer
It's cold in the morning, you put my underwear on
Your joy at the packets of humanitarian aid makes me happy and sad at the same time
And I ask myself where on earth do you find us coffee every night

I was young and I didn't know that death's something a lot more common than it seems
So plain that anything you say about it sounds trite.