| «O, my brave companions | 
| When your souls flock silently away | 
| And the eyeless dead shame that the wild beast of battle on the ridge | 
| Death will stand grieving in that field of war | 
| Since your unvanquished hardihood is spent | 
| And through some mooned Valhalla there shall pass | 
| Batallions and batallions, scarred from hell | 
| The unreturning army that was youth | 
| The legions who have suffered | 
| And are dust» | 
| March through the mud and the rain | 
| The soldiers disappearing into the gray | 
| Hopeless, they look to the sky | 
| For years they have bled on the line | 
| I saw them advancing | 
| Into the smoke and the fire | 
| They were cut down | 
| I saw, as the brave men… | 
| Died, by their thousands, forgotten | 
| Their names carved upon a white cross | 
| The rows stretch into the horizon | 
| And no words can speak of the loss | 
| I saw warriors broken | 
| Upon the anvil of Verdum | 
| Unreturning, the legions | 
| Who suffered and are dust | 
| Our tattered banners fly in the wind | 
| Over the top, we charge again | 
| The war will be won, and God’s on our side | 
| But my brave companions, why must you all die | 
| Oh why? | 
| WE ARE THE GUNS! | 
| Saw you our work, the flashes of light | 
| WE ARE THE ONES! | 
| Filling the graves, the ghosts on the firing line | 
| NOW IT IS DONE! | 
| Our voice will be heard in the ages to come | 
| Husbands or lovers, fathers or sons | 
| We break them | 
| Yes, We Are the Guns! | 
| And when the guns fell silent, at last | 
| There’s nothing that remains of the past | 
| The world that I knew is dead and gone | 
| My soul is left in ruins | 
| And I cannot see the dawn |