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The grave that they dug him had flowers |
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Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors, |
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And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone. |
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He's gone. |
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When the wars of our nation did beckon, |
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A man barely twenty did answer the calling. |
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Proud of the trust that he placed in our nation, |
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He's gone, |
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But Eternity knows him, and it knows what we've done. |
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And the rain fell like pearls on the leaves of the flowers |
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Leaving brown, muddy clay where the earth had been dry. |
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And deep in the trench he waited for hours, |
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As he held to his rifle and prayed not to die. |
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But the silence of night was shattered by fire |
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As guns and grenades blasted sharp through the air. |
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And one after another his comrades were slaughtered. |
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In morgue of Marines, alone standing there. |
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He crouched ever lower, ever lower with fear. |
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"They can't let me die! The can't let me die here! |
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I'll cover myself with the mud and the earth. |
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I'll cover myself! I know I'm not brave! |
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The earth! the earth! the earth is my grave." |
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When the wars of our nation did beckon, |
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A man barely twenty did answer the calling. |
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Proud of the trust that he placed in our nation, |
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He's gone. |
