We could hear a hum as we marched to the Somme with boots that were covered in mud.
A battle did rage as these men of young age were welcomed by carnage and blood.
I watched as men fell in this small piece of hell and as others crouched down for some cover
and as the shells hit in this stagnated pit many scribbled down notes for their mother.
The noise brought the fight that went on through the night, closer than we’d ever want.
With many aghast at the force of each blast that erupted along battles front.
The rats by the score shared a familiar gnaw, feasting on those who were gone
and we cleared what we could of the bodies and blood, while the cannons they roared on and on.
It wouldn’t be long till yet another song that would make us all want this to stop.
When that whistle did blow, this is what let us know – it was time to go over the top.
Machine guns did roar, killing men by the score as in a trance we ran straight ahead.
With rifle in hand and by another’s command we were trapping out over the dead.
I think many men knew we would never break through but they sent us there nevertheless
and with great English pride we all died side by side – heaped in such a malevolent mess.
As I lie in this mud and as I watch my blood spraying out into the horizon.
Let my words say to you, this is what you must do. Remember that war is a poison.
I lie in a grave and was said to be brave – for the lil’ bit of fighting I did.
Though I would rather be found with my feet on the ground and just messing around like a kid.
Now a hundred years on and with millions gone. Brothers, Fathers, Grandfathers and more.
Can we now work it out that it is without doubt – better to talk than to War.