Running through the trench,
Stumbling through the deep mud,
Bodies of men, dying and dead,
The dead and dying are everywhere.

My thoughts, they go to home,
The sweetheart that I left behind,
My child, the child I've never met,
Thinking of me, suffering in France.

Ma's custard pies,
Pa's deermeat, fresh from the kill,
The warm, cozy house, full of love,
Oh, how I miss so much.

Then somewhere near in front:
Whew... fup... fop... fup...
A bright flare goes out, clear as day.
I see the Huns, advancing towards me.
Oh, Lord help me!

The tut-tut of machine guns,
The chatter of the rifles,
The belch of the big gun,
Scream "Death!" to my ears.

The rain is splattering,
The sky is dreary,
The mud mixed with blood,
Blood of the dead and dying.

The pop of the whiz-bangers,
The fup of the Five-Nines,
I think about the gas,
Loosened my mask, in case-
And listened... Nothing...
Then the stinging poison hit my face.

It's too late, I stand there choking,
Sputtering... drowning.....
Dancing grostequely, as if the Devil took procession
Body on fire, life being sucked out.

My final thoughts go to my sweetheart,
My child, the child I've never met,
Thinking of me, as I lay in the mud,
Darkness becomes my shroud.