Waiting for Heaven

Crouched beneath the arches cold, the warehouse of the dead and old,

We stare about, watching, waiting, terrified and hesitating,

As sergeants point towards the line, we can’t deny that it’s our time,

To march back up the dirty track, and take our seats for this attack.

Look out boys, we’re coming back!

 

A shiver courses down my spine, as slowly we approach the line,

The shells are roaring overhead, like angels coming for the dead,

My head retreats beneath the ground, the mud and blood will now surround,

My burial, this dirty track, where I shall wait for this attack.

Look out boys, I’m coming back!

 

I wonder if St. Peter’s gates, is good enough for all my traits,

I did my duty, bore the shield, and lived my youth in Flanders Field.

I gave so much and in this case, I earned far more than Heaven’s grace.

For now, upon this dirty track, I wait to start the next attack.

Look out boys, I’m coming back!

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