Eight hundred and sixty three people answered their country’s call
Eight hundred and sixty three soldiers were destined that day to fall
In the brutal style of combat their death came and it was violent
Their guns so keenly polished too early that day they fell silent
All along the Western Front lives extinguished one by one
Pushed forward by demands on high and mown down by the Hun

In eleven hours of fighting the list of causalities
Grew until the numbered dead was eight hundred sixty three
That number isn’t special, but the date you might remember
The year was 1918 on the 11th of November
Though the rules of war permit it, that doesn’t make it right
Four hundred brace of soldiers didn’t make it to the night

After years of bloody conflict, the incessant static grind
What was the point of the killing? The armistice was signed
The call to arms was over. Did they have to loss their life?
I wonder now it’s over was it worth their sacrifice?
Perhaps the saddest telegrams that were ever sent were these
To the mothers and the fathers of the eight hundred sixty three