All is not well, my friend
Pinned down in this muddy trench
I can’t feel my legs, my arms, or my head
I smell the gas coming with its awful stench
As the masked enemy cheer
From across the battlefield
They crawl on the mud, I hear
Their taunts grow louder and ever weird
My comrades scramble and swim
In pools of blood and our sins
They wonder aloud, choking in this grim
Why are we here, fighting for tins?
I struggle to keep it all
My insides from spilling out
I wish to scream
But I no longer have clout
Will you help a brother
Or a stranger thereabout?
Even knowing my deeds, if ever
Offer a hand, without a doubt?
Do we have a flag left to wave
Before their numbers overwhelm our gaze?
Do we have fears left to stave
Before they arrive with guns all ablaze?
This awful death has come for us all
This I can comprehend
Help has not answered our call
So I close my eyes and pray for an ignoble end
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