They were miles from home.
Suspended in the sky.
They fell from heaven
No goodbyes.

They came to rest
In lush green pastures
Amongst the sheep
And metal shrapnel

Your hands are covered in their blood.

Twenty years later
You are dying
Terminal illness
Have you been crying?

You were granted compassion
Although you gave none
To go home to Libya
To walk in the sun

You will see your family
Before you die
You will get a chance
To say that last “Goodbye”

Those families who lost
Those loved ones who died
Have all been sacrificed
For politics and pride

You get to go home
But make no mistake
You have not been cleared
Your guilt will follow you to the grave.