The night is ending,
And still the shells fall,
Upon the earth,
Creating the footsteps of
Boom, Boom, Boom,
The sounds of death or the
Drumbeats of Hell
Crumble their minds and
Rattle their hearts,
Some may cry,
Some may wail,
Others stay silent
Or turn a
Ghostly pale
Until an emotionless voice
Cries out:
‘Over the top!’
And they scream,
And they climb
And they choke on their fear.

The bullets are sounding,
The men are falling,
The blood is spilling,
But there’s no one to mourn
The rise of the smoke
That covers the Sun
And creates the
Grey Dawn.