16 November 2012
Oh mother my mouth is full of stars As cartridges in the tray. My blood is a twin-branched scarlet tree that runs, all runs away.
Oh "Cooks to the galley" That sounded off. The lads are down in the mess. While I lie down by the forrad gun With a bullet in my breast
Don't send me a parcel at Christmas time With socks and nutty and wine And don't depend on a long weekend by the Western Railway line
Fare well Aggie Weston and the Barracks at Guz, Hang my tiddley suit on the door, Cause' I'm sewn up neat in a canvas sheet And I shall be home no more.
World War 2 • Opuss № I