Words From the Front

January 23rd There's no road It's been raining now for three days We're in mud up to our knees If luck prevails and I'm given leave I should be home by the 17th One word I hear all the time This word I hear Blind Blind John died last night He had no chance Beneath the surgeon's drunken hands It's hard to see Who's about The fires we light Soon smolder out If luck prevails and I'm given leave I should be home by the 17th One word I hear all the time This word I hear Blind Blind Blind Up on the ridge They're dug in deep We move in waves As if asleep And there they lay Four thousand men The general orders "Attack again." If luck prevails and I'm given leave I should be home by the 17th One word I hear all the time This word I hear Blind Blind Blind January 23rd