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