O, the guns sing low, a twisted tune,
Where dawn breaks late, and night falls soon.
Mud-soaked boots in a trench-bound sea,
Oh, Jerry’s out there—watchin' me.
The rum flows thin, but thicker than hope,
As lads crack jokes just to bloody cope.
They say we’re brave, we say we’re mad,
Laughin' at doom, at the luck we never had.
With a whistle blown, off we go, my friend—
A fine day to fight, a fine day to end.