The call to arms is coming across the whispering breeze
it passes by growing stronger and stronger with each breath i take into my lungs
I clutch my blackened rifle in my hands, and dream of the shores back home,
I lied to my love, when i told her i would return,
I hope i shall but the shadow of death stalks me where ever i walk
I know that i must embrace her soft touch soon,
but as sit in these trenches full of mud,
I dwell upon your soft skin in the spring time sun
and the thoughts of you are what drive me on in
the valley of death, for your warm memories keep back the wretched hand of death
from claiming me...
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