Terror grips us as we wait Knowing the horrors we must face Just a child, fourteen years of age Sent off to die for my faith
Lined up, bombs falling overhead Huddled in the trench, shaking In my boots, waiting for the whistle blast Gripping my rifle tightly No time for fear or cowardice Even though we go to our deaths My thoughts drift to my mother's face Resigned to my fate
In droves we die for the glory of our Lord The flower of youth to fall upon the sword We charge into the open mouth of hell To join the dead where the corpses dwell
Forward into no-man's-land Over minefields in the sand Pawns of religious politics
Given no real chance to liveTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
