The sound of whistle
A rattle of gunfire
Dodging the shrapnel
Straight over the barbed wire

Heading towards the enemy, I hold my breath
Say a prayer, as we plunge into our death
Through the smoke, mud and lead

Our foe lies just ahead
Clasping my rifle tight
Their guns ablaze with spite

We get so close, yet still too far
With burst of fire I go down
No one near, I choke a cry
No one hears, my time is nigh

See my comrades falling down
In the shrill their voices drown
The wailing shells - our passing bells

Soon my friends we'll meet again
And so we die at Passchendaele