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From the field kitchen he did troop
With two canisters filled with soup

His feet felt old and his aching limbs felt numb
He had promised his mates with soup he'd come
So alone he continued through trenches and raped earth
Concentrating on not spilling soup for all he was worth

But the way it was long and the burden was great
Stray bombs landed near, was he now tempting fate
Reasonably quiet on the front but he knew snipers well
Though the land seemed dead still they would dwell

Before the war he was a wanderer, a swagman if you will
Humping his drum through valleys, plains and over hill
His Billy on his swag had now popped into his head
For similar was the containers that now weighed him down like lead

A stray shell landed near and his mind returned to the job
He quickened his awkward walk as his heart began to throb
When a shell landed nearer and a container was rent asunder
He stared in disbelief then his cursed raped the air like thunder

He sat the last one down and took a little rest
The freight it had knocked the wind from his chest
He rubbed his eyes and it seemed rather strange to him
That his usually faultless vision was now going dim

He was now confused at where he was, why was he sitting down?
Why was he dressed in khaki, what's this red fluid on the ground?
He had not felt the shrapnel that had torn a hole in his side
In the mud of a ruined trench he closed his eyes and died

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