My surroundings are bleak Stretcher bearers do I seek A wasteland of churned earth Bearing pain for all I'm worth
For hours under French sun I've lain wounded from Hun gun In a damn shallow shell hole From which to rid is my goal
No more water at my hip A dead foes water do I sip A healable wound but in this sun Is worse than injury by gun
Of a sudden movement I see Believing I shall soon be free But coming closer now to see They are Germans numbering three
They are kind, they dress my wound Tell me Australians are coming soon Fill my bottle, shade my face Then they leave without a traceTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
