We sit here, cold, hungry,
Forgotten are all life’s charms,
Then, at long last, comes that call,
The dreaded yet long awaited call to arms
So, upon the whistle’s shriek,
We climb, like puppets, unwilling, yet still,
We go over onto the dreaded field,
Of mud and death, awaiting the kill.
Now we walk, organised, for now,
Then the rattle of guns rings out across the land,
Chaos, blood, death,
We fall, like grains of sand,
Finally, quiet descends upon the battlefield,
And now we may drift back to our rest,
All around us bodies of friends, colleagues,
Finally, their minds are at rest.
My friends, if anyone should say to you,
"Go fight, Fight for your country!"
Then tell them this,
War's worse than you may think.