In the trench which houses
The greenness of life loused
By the hammering of shells upon our heads.
The steam rising from latrine and latrine
Reminds me of the swamps I knew well
Sweat and steam rising from every stream
As I sit in this pool 
Of crimson,
Where life was
Where love is
Cancelled; the history books have no answer.

The headaches are the only relief from boredom
No matter about the heroics of lunging
Towards another moonscape with rotting
Entrails and bones.

In the trench house
The “greatness of Empire, the king, the country
Make the men vomit abuse and blood they say,
“where are they – the war mongers?”

Soldiers were told “Give ‘em ‘ell”
Well
I’m telling you I have that hell
So deep down inside
I can’t find a way
To give it away.