Why can’t we all be friends,
A heart from this war never mends,
Dirt from my trench covers my glasses lens.
I wish we could all put to war, ends.

I’m only 19 years old and have been conscripted.
The amount of violence makes me believe we’re addicted,
To something people would usually be convicted
Of.

Murder has never been pleasant,
And all of it now makes me feel as low as a peasant.

And I wish e’ry day,
That we can all wake up and say,
We can all just stop and be like okay
Today we end this fray.

All of The men are sad,
But it seems we’ve all gone mad.
To believe this will go somewhere,
When so far it’s led to nowhere.
Few of us sit and stare,
Waiting on our turn.
In all our minds we think how unfair,
And how much do we really care.

This is the end of us my friends,
We can all admittedly see how it ends.
With shells here,
And dead bodies there.
Why do we continue to care?

Here in the trenches there’s no hope,
Some on our free time often mope,
‘cause we know there’s no escaping this.
For here there is no bliss.

We want to go home,
And sleep on a mattress,
Not on a hunk of loam.
As well as that other than home,
No man’s land is where the spirits roam.
Seeking the ruin of souls.

Here is hell,
You can see from the glare,
Which stares at you from an enemy shell.
We sit and clean our rifle,
As enemy bombs continue to stifle,
Our little conversations.

Somehow we can find in our minds tranquility,
As limited as it may be,
The time I get inside is still important to me.