| The grave that they dug him had flowers
|
| Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colours
|
| And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone
|
| He’s gone
|
| When the wars of our nation did beckon
|
| A man barely twenty did answer the calling
|
| Proud of the trust that he placed in our nation
|
| He’s gone
|
| But Eternity knows him, and it knows what we’ve done
|
| And the rain fell like pearls on the leaves of the flowers
|
| Leaving brown, muddy clay where the earth had been dry
|
| And deep in the trench he waited for hours
|
| As he held to his rifle and prayed not to die
|
| But the silence of night was shattered by fire
|
| As guns and grenades blasted sharp through the air
|
| And one after another his comrades were slaughtered
|
| In a morgue of Marines, alone standing there
|
| He crouched ever lower, ever lower with fear
|
| «They can’t let me die! |
| They can’t let me die here!
|
| I’ll cover myself with the mud and the earth
|
| I’ll cover myself! |
| I know I’m not brave!
|
| The earth! |
| the earth! |
| the earth is my grave.»
|
| The grave that they dug him had flowers
|
| Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colours
|
| And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone
|
| He’s gone |