This muddy wall I lean upon,
My rifle lying by my side,
Waiting for the whistle blow,
‘Over the top boys, give em ell’
Terror flows through my pencil as I write to you maybe for the last time,
My pal lies asleep,
I wish I could go to sleep until it’s over.

Cold and wet the trench, the grave,
Singing songs to raise our spirits,
Do the enemy fear as well as us?
Christ! I can not understand.
My little girl, her photo clenched tight in my hand, to my heart,
A prayer before we go,
My rifle, my candle exhausted.

Blown from the world my friend is set free,
The rattling of the guns,
The cries of worn out men and boys!
Smoke and clay and a heaven full of the friends I knew,
They died to make my country free.
Now my time is here,
The flag is up,
The ladder stands straight,
Picking up my rifle I am ready,
Or am I?..