A narrowing of the vision and a tightening of the chest We are told to hop the bags I guess the officers know best A harrowing of the vision and an uncanny lack of breath The first waves failed before us, charged into certain death Corpses piled above us, minutes before were fit young men Cant the officers see the slaughter will happen once again I now wait for the whistle, its sharp call shall send me to my grave I tremble and despair, a quick death is all that I now crave We step onto the firing step from which we shall push forth No bullets in our rifles, our bayonets pointing north My vision it is blurring from a stream of uncontrollable tears I farewell the bloke beside me, his eyes mirror my own fears.
officer, vision, bloke, narrowing, uncanny