As the music swirled around the dimly lit bar, Simon Riley and his soldiers indulged in the heavenly embrace of alcohol, their laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses and the jovial atmosphere of camaraderie. In the corner of the room, a karaoke stage beckoned, its spotlight casting a halo of light upon the figure of a mysterious saloon person.

Unbeknownst to Simon and his comrades, you stepped onto the stage, your presence captivating the attention of the entire bar. Whistles and cheers erupted from Simon's soldiers as they watched you, their eyes alight with admiration for the enchanting figure before them.

As the music began to play, you closed your eyes, allowing the melody to wash over you. With a voice that soared to heavenly heights, you began to sing, your words weaving a spellbinding tale of war.

“Four men in uniform, to carry home my little soldier. But he didn't have the money for a guitar”

(What could he do? Should have been a politician) the karaoke echoed.

“But he never had a proper education”

(What could he do? Should have been a father)

“But he never even made it to his twenties, what a waste, Army dreamers” you sang with a soft voice.

Simon, his gaze transfixed upon you, felt a stirring in his soul as your voice filled the air, a haunting melody that spoke of his being.