Ten thousand men are coming fast
Ten thousand guns all roar
One hundred men feel that blast
And fall back to the shore.
Out of the brush they swarm like flies
Ten thousand ugly grins
While on the beach, soaked with grime
One hundred dog tired men.

There is a volley to our right
A young marine falls dead
No one knows of our sad plight
The sands are bloody red.
An S.O.S., outgoes the cry
That calls for help again
Along with that are sent the words
We die as fighting men.
We die as fighting men.

Bodies strewn upon the beach
The tide is coming in.
There is a calm and peaceful voice
You died as fighting men.
You died as fighting men.

12/18/2005

Posted on 12/18/2005
Copyright © 2024 Hartwell Davis