The Grave
The grave that they dug him had flowersGathered from the hillsides in bright summer colorsAnd the brown earth bleached whiteAt the edge of his gravestoneHe's gone
When the wars of our nation did beckonThe man, barely twenty, did answer the callingProud of the trustThat he placed in our nationHe's gone
But eternity knows himAnd it knows what we've done
And the rain fell like pearlsOn the leaves of the flowersLeaving brown, muddy clayWhere the earth had been dry
And deep in the trenchHe waited for hoursAs he held to his rifleAnd prayed not to die
But the silence of nightWas shattered by fireAs the guns and grenadesBlasted sharp through the air
One after anotherHis comrades were slaughteredIn the morgue of marinesAlone, standing there
He crouched ever lowerEver lower, with fear"They can't let me dieThey can't let me die here!
I'll cover myselfWith the mud and the earthI'll cover myselfI know I'm not brave!
The earth, the earthThe earth is my grave"
The grave that they dug him had flowersGathered from the hillsides in bright summer colorsAnd the brown earth bleached whiteAt the edge of his gravestoneHe's gone