Medic!

Pieces of friends would come down from the sky,

and pieces of enemies, too.
Often he’d choke on the stench and the smoke
and he’d cry bitter tears in his stew.

It might ease the doubt if he'd let it all out,

but he tells me that's not how he thinks it.
He says it’s all past and the die has been cast;
he has bottled it up – and he drinks it.