Footman
Not many had been kind to him,
Too poor for this, too poor for that
With a dirty face and blistered hands, he applied himself for service
No one really knew him
Or saw the storm evoking in his soul,
They saw the catering, the clearing, the cleansing,
But no one saw inside
Cold is an understatement,
The ghost of a tortured soul imprisoned in his eyes
He is trapped, held captive in this castle of a home,
While clawing at his binding cuffs,
He decides to go to war
War is unforgiving,
It robbed many of their lives,
And stole away the little hope, left in that mans eyes
But now the war is over,
And he's back where he began,
But nothing's quite the same,
...He's got a bullet in his hand.