---

A narrowing of the vision and a tightening of the chest

We are told to hop the bags I guess the officers know best

A harrowing of the vision and an uncanny lack of breath

The first waves failed before us, charged into certain death

Corpses piled above us, minutes before were fit young men

Can't the officers see the slaughter will happen once again

I now wait for the whistle, its sharp call shall send me to my grave

I tremble and despair, a quick death is all that I now crave

We step onto the firing step from which we shall push forth

No bullets in our rifles, our bayonets pointing north

My vision it is blurring from a stream of uncontrollable tears

I farewell the bloke beside me, his eyes mirror my own fears.