I march with my men
Towards the front.
I can hear the faint calls of the shells
Shrieking, bickering me closer.

A group of men limp by
In utter silence, tears in their eyes
Straight faces, slowly breaking into laughter.
I stare at them, listening.

I ask what it was like over there
In the grimy trenches, with the Angel of Death,
Rain and shells pouring... Listening, moaning, laughing
"War is Hell.." Said he.

We made it to the trench
It's dark and muddy
I almost tripped on a leg.
I peek over, through the twisted wire
Many bodies, craters, and flares, I see.

A flare went up, now bright as day
"O'er the top, mates! Fer King an' Country!"
I go over with my comrades, into the wasteland
To clear the Huns away.

"Oy! I'm hit!" He cried- and died.
The bullets popped and snapped, "in vain, in vain!"
I keep running, I see my friend
Laying there, in the red mud. He died smiling.

As the shells screeched- hooted and groaned
The big guns belched and sighed
Machine guns chattered, popped and chuckled
I run, jumped into the trench, wounded
Crying for mother.

They sent me back to the rear.
The sound of the shells are messing with me.
Recruits walk past, I slowly smile.
They ask why I'm smiling,
I laugh, listening to the hoots.

"War is Hell.." I moan, and in my head
The bayonets grinned, the bullets chirped
The gas hissed.