Rain floods the trenches on a cold darkened night,
And the battle drags on. How long must they fight?
Rats grow fat as they feast on the dead.
The constant shell impacts get to the head.
You keep your bayonet close, and your eye on no-man’s-land,
Helmet on your head and rifle in your hand.
As you wait for the Hun,
Better man that machine gun.
It’s a blood bath in Belgium; it’s a god-awful war,
In an industrial era with weapons never seen before.
It’s the war to end all wars, or so they say,
But sadly we won’t learn our lessons that way.
