The senior citizen marched into his house.
With a heavy heart full of war miseries.
He drops his bag that was packed with the souls of the rivals. 
Tiredness has cringed his face. 
His dusty boots have tumbled the tar roads of this world,
Dodging bullets to put a bullet on a man’s skull.
On his shoulders, he’s wearing a garment,
A crown on his head,
A medal around his neck,
For carrying his country.