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Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
January twenty third 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 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 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" |