Drowning in the Mud.

When you trudge through the mud
with the rats scurrying by,
and you hear the distant cry
of the wounded men
you used to call friends.
For eternity they'll lie
in a pool of blood.

When you're lying in the mud
and the eerie horn
signals the end of dawn.
You feel the heavy breath
of the daunting dread of death.
Ochre-coloured cloud, airborne
floats above the flood.

Why is it us having to fight in this mud
for a cause not our own?
Our lives away are blown.
Without seeing my enemy's face,
I am told he is from a different race.
But he, like me, will die alone
drowning in the mud.

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