Don’t you slip in the blood
Waiting for the sign
Your fear is the same as mine
I hear those screaming shells,
at the gates of hell
Silent are my cry’s
I’m too young to die
The fields will soon be red,
when the whistle calls the dead
Can you hear us crying
Can you hear us dying
In the year of 1917
Don’t you slip in the blood
Beside me my friends are falling
And wounded boys crawling
No one feels my breath,
when I rush to meet Death
Can you hear us crying
Can you hear us dying
In the year of 1917
Don’t you slip in the blood