The battle bold, the breaths we hold, the terror we face, the horrors of Grace,
The flag that flies, the women that sigh, the lines you hold, “Oh, men, be bold!”
The death that surrounds, the hallowed burial grounds, the blood on the snow, the debt you owe, the trenches you hide in, the battles you fight in.
The country you love, the peaceful dove, the battle cost, the lives you lost.
The pain you suffered, the Nazi hatred you buffered, the explosions you heard, and your dying friends’ words.
Your life will never be the same; to men in war, emotions are not a game.
Though the flag still flew, we knew that the pain would never go away; it lives on to this very day.
The true brave men like you are bold, suffering through this terrible cold.
So Death comes like a Reaper knows, ending all your terrible woes, the cancer finally takes you away from the pain remembered, you will never again find a fellow man dismembered.
The horrors you saw, the vulture’s caw, the never-ending pain, the sorrowful gain.
Those who fought, the victory you sought.
The unbelievable sorrow, the fight for tomorrow.
The pain you felt, the places you dwelt, the helmets you wore, and the sadness you bore.
The men you gave, the empty grave.
The Nazis you felled, the explosions you smelled, the rotting corpse on the front line, the Reaper has come to take his toll on time.
The coffin blue, the lives we rue, the brave and true, we will never forget you. (