Not that I'd lie somewhere out in the mud scribbling this letter down, we're safely back at the barracks since early this morning. Fifteen days on end we were out there this time, watching the line, sleeping and eating in dugouts. Three days break, and we're in for another fifteen days at least. Tired enough to walk around like in a haze, and that's what I mean when I say I'm writing to you directly from the trenches. Sung Far Away Life is all so strange, so strange.
Death comes close behind it.
Daily bread is hard to gain, only few can find it. Little sickle in the sky, buried in a deep, cold darkness. Twinkling stars its tears of grief. All our lives so very brief. Feet cease to roam, a lonesome traveler travel home.