I enlisted when I was a boy, for I saw no open doors,

Through fear of bombs, of going wrong, I stepped into the war,

In 1917 I joined, I strolled into the trenches ad mud,

Through all my life, I'd seen no such strife, I was in a world of blood.

With tanks, gas, bullets,and brass, artillery fell every day,

I still didn't know, a friend from a foe, bullets flew every which way,

Alas I miss my life on the farm, the small boat that I used to row,

I'd thoughtI would be, from what I had seen, a noble and mighty hero,

It's the small things that I miss, good food, nice clothes, dry socks

Now I sleep in mud so deep, upon a bed of rocks,

Sickness is moving through the lines, and I've had to say goodbye

To more friends by a shivering end, than bullets that have flown by.

Nothing's sicker than this war, these words I must expel,

I fear I write you from the deep, and burning depths of hell,

Upon my mind, this war is taking quite a heavy toll,

The only thing that keeps me fighting is the flag atop that pole,

If I go down, I won't be mad, 'tis not the enemies fault.