The old mans cottage

Surrounded by smoke and fog there's a cottage in the distance.
In the woods by a lake there is no sounds to be heard.
In the cottage a old man has stored his life and his stories.
He lives there without worries, alone.

The fall is marching in and the leafs are falling of the trees.
The old man doesn't worry, they did the same awful thing last year.
He can see them going down, one by one. Hitting the grass without a sound.
He thinks back, remembering a time and a story he was playing a role in.

A time where men fell, just like the leafs fall now.
Where all his comrades fell, after sharp, alarming sounds.
When they hit the ground they didn't make a sound.
Falling, slowly never to rise again.

The old man, sits on the bench and he thinks.
Thinks of a part of time and history, where there was nothing he could do.
When he thinks back on these past events his tears fall down.
Just like like the leafs on the ground.

"They did the same awful thing last year" he silently say.
Time may change but men won't.
The same awful thing will happen again.
History, much like the seasons are bound to repeat itself.