I am Sorry, Mrs. Gunterman

I am sorry, Mrs. Gunterman
 your daughter is not home tonight.

 She was a soilder
 proud, and brave,
 and well spoken.

 She was a mother,
  a wife, a sister,
  and a duaghter.

 Her country called,
 and she answered,
 in a forgien land.

 But one night on gaurd,
 her seniors came,
 raped and beat her.

 The MP's called for
 saying "doc, in the middle of the road"
 and I ran like lighting.

 She lay broken and lifeless,
 limp and pale,
 barley alive, and not quiet dead. 

 Striped of her armour,
 striped of her pride,
 striped of her clothes, and poorly redressed.

 I fought to for her to live
 as her breath sputered out, 
 as her pulse quickly faded.

 We get her to the hospital,
 where the doctors, without a glance, 
 say that she is dead.

 Under breath I hear the cursing, 
  In eyes I see the tears,
 at the memorial I feel the pain

 now my eye are bleeding as I say
 I am sorry Mrs. Gunterman,
 your daughter won't be home tonight.