I have a story to tell,
Do you want to hear about my hell?
I am writing to you from my grave,
And when you read this, you make think I was brave!

What had an Austrian Hungarian Dukes death got to do with me?
Why should someone getting shot in Sarajevo not allow me to be free?
How can events miles away cause my family to be so distraught?
‘Cos aristocratic posh people’s’ disagreements caused my life to be so short!

I’ve seen the bullets in heads and guts hanging out,
I’ve trod through puddles of blood when we’ve got the shout.
I’ve seen rats eating dead bodies with their mouths dripping red,
This hells got to stop, I’d be better off dead!

Out of the trenches we ran forward without rest,
Within seconds I felt the burning pain of bullets in my chest.
I felt my warm blood trickle from me in the mud where I lay,
Then a euphoric sense of peace came about me as my life ebbed away.