Why at this late hour
When the blood of our soldiers water the soil
And the sweat from our brows has fed the clouds
To dark, thick clouds, do Calvary come?

The infernal string's been plucked, the anthems sung.
So do not promise us the red Clover, for victory or not
The living soul's spirit has gone with the dead
And transformed them to living carcass

Arrive not dear salvation for all that I love lies here
let us fall with our soldiers and transcend with them
There's no greater Victory --or place for us no more--,
Except here, to be buried with the dead.