Bang goes another bomb,
Dropped on another town,
Men lie there crying,
Another soldier is down.

Waiting in the trenches,
Feeling cold, hungry and alone,
Gripping a family photo,
Wanting to go home.

It’s not a war they’ve started,
But they’re fighting everyday,
Guns go ablazing
Shrapenal comes their way.

The smell of rotting corpses,
The smelling rotting flesh,
The smell that wafts and haunts them,
Is the rotting scent of death.

Crouching on the ground,
Hiding out of the way,
There aren’t any soldiers,
Only boys are here today.

Listening to the screams,
Their fighting for their life,
In so much woe and agony,
In times of trouble and strife.

“Do your country proud son”,
Is what they told them on that day,
When they waited and signed papers,
They never imagined it would be this way.