Sound out your bugles, charge over the dead,
As the roar of shells flies over our heads,
Deafening cries of boys which became crazed men,
The path of death in front of us is never our friend,
As the cry of victory has surpassed,
After the fog of battle has lifted from the grass,
Men of different armies and ranks,
Lay lifeless near a ****** river bank,
Those who still refuse to die,
Screams and moans are their last cry,
Oh youth who gave your breath of life?
For peace is not a cheap price.
Is our life worth giving for our nation’s honour and pride?
Yet this is no battle, nor glory but a slaughter of lives,
How it all started with dutiful and a gleeful cheer
Now ends with regret, death and fear
sweet wine of youth now spilled upon the soil
cursed are those who live to see the light after such turmoil
no tears are seen from your cold lonely face
To those who lay pale and lifeless within coffins encase
crosses of white erected but without any name
to you a wreath of red roses, less we forget such disastrous  shame.