I lay surrounded by Death in the dark,
I lay in the muddy trench with my men.
My poor, sore eyes are blood-shot red with fatigue,
From tiring days and long, sleepless nights.

I can hear the faint beating of my heart,
I can hear the hollow thuds in my chest.
I can hear the Big Bertha's exploding shells,
As it moans and screams across the bloody Hell,
As if it was an angry old soul,
Looking and hunting for it's revenge.

Another shell crashes nearby, exploding,
It seemed like the shell was right over us,
It wasn't, we could tell it hit too far.
I hear a "fup!" and I see a flare light,
We peek over the top and I start to shake.

Our surroundings shined as bright as day,
We could see the silhouette of the Boche,
As they cower behind their own trench line.
We can see the gleam of their pot-helmets,
As they peek over to observe our line.

I hear our men shoot mustard gas to them,
I watch the Five-Nines pop over, and frown.
We knew we'd be running over soon,
Before we knew it, we heard the command.

We fixed our bayonets as they grinned wild,
We were told to wait for further notice.
My heart was pounding madly in my chest,
And I could feel it throbbing heavily.
We heard a voice cry to put our masks on,
We were going over the top to our deaths.

I heard a pistol fire in the air,
A sergeant scrambled over and he cried:
"Come on, come on, my courageous comrades!
Do yeh wan' ta' live forever? Let's go!"
Into the hail of smoke and gunfire,
Knowing what awaits us down the Hell.

Death beckons us closer with our steps.