The guns are silent, the killing’s stopped,
The war is now in the past.
Men and horses and folks back home
Can breathe with ease at last.
The smell of cordite, the shrieks of men
As shrapnel rips their flesh,
Is a hideous dream for those who survived
The torture and the death.
Gallipoli’s gone, France still to come,
The thought of home ever sweet,
What chance of making it through the hell
Of gas, the Somme, trench feet!
But wake from your dream, my soldier lad,
The guns shall sound no more.
You survived the Somme and you’re now back home,
Far away from the hell of war.