A Cuban cigar and a distinctive top hat,
‘We will land here and we will take that.’
A million men deployed by a single finger,
A million men killed, in death they linger.
Looking down now at the trenches, of the poor Turk,
It looks the same there, disease and death lurk.
The mud, screams and explosions are all to hide,
It’s a simple façade, there’s nothing inside,
No reason to fight, no reason to die,
No reason to sacrifice everything for a lie.
Yet these million men, they’re eager as can be,
It won’t be long until they see.
Lest we forget, we say to the remaining few,
But how can we remember, what we never knew.