• Burn it all to ash. Translate from dot to dash. Let all the sweat drip down. In battery smoke they drown. Through bullets like whips in air. Through concussion flesh did tear. From sky the engines did fall. And the scream of mortar call. Of mines their bines did shatter, then met with turret chatter. The soldier, that war did despise. Each soldier looked death in the eyes. Concussion and explosion rang. And rifle with turret sang. Trudge through mud and puddle. Chilled to make grown men huddle. Helmet fly off to air, after sniper did aim with care. Did the devil dance in between? The smell so crude and mean. The rot of flesh and cloth. The dead the only sloth. Though bullets and bombs did scream, "Forward to enemy team!" Fear that make grown men cry. Sent out like pawns to die. To pins and grenades they clench, "Forward to enemy trench!" Put up a machine gun mount, lay to rest too many to count. Captains, with pistol in war. revived the faithless core. Three snipers, then two, then one. Then all together became none. Mortars, to life had claim. Mortars, made sprinters lame. Pain was all they had that time, that war made living feel as a crime. For when it started, there was no exit door. For it was hell,
    Hell 'till the end of the war.