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In the field
Mama I think i'm going to die
The french men be shooting at me
Their Clad In black coats
The trenches are filled with more blood then there is water
Woman are for crying for their husbands
Mama what happened to days where no one died in ours wars
Mama I hope you're all right
The drafted boys are playing with marbles
While the old men wait for their deaths
The rain seeps into my wounds
In The distance I see a great cloud of yellow
Men die in the Cloud of smog
It is slowly approaching
Today think I'm going to die
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