A match grade barrel to do his chore
A single task occupies his mind
To the outside world he is blind
He moves into the open grass
The enemy patrol makes a searching pass
One hour, two, three, then four
He only moves a few feet or more
A single man he has been sent to kill
and on his hands this man's blood will spill
One ounce more on the trigger sear
The bullet races away like a high speed spear
The silence is deafening, not a single sound
as the shooter removes the single spent round
His task now done he fades back into the wood
His only trace is a body where a man once stood
---Bam Bam USMC
