Far from the muddy trenches of north France,
he twists in pain; the bullet’s moved an inch.
It brings him from his bed back to the smoke...
The noxious gas is tearing at his throat.
He twists in pain; the bullet’s moved an inch;
he thinks he’ll never use his leg again.
The noxious gas is tearing at his throat,
just as it did months ago in Argonne.
He thinks he’ll never use his leg again.
He feels the bullet ripping at his skin
just as it did months ago in Argonne,
before this hell they call a hospital.
He feels the bullet ripping at his skin.
It brings him from his bed back to the smoke,
before this hell they call a hospital
far from the muddy trenches of north France.
No comments:
Post a Comment