The attack was repelled, the sordid storm dashed to Hell;
Home again, home again, they will tread no more.

Death masks made from mud, mixed, christened in blood,
The rain pounding with the drums and the battle boot’s thud;
Home again, home again, they will tread no more.

I’m torn open on the side while the flags surely flied.
I lain between my brothers for a place where I could hide.
Between death-bound blood rattles and cackles brought forth,
You could hear the clashed shouting as they marched west by north
Home again, home again, we will tread no more.

Hands grasping at nothing, rasping ghastly wicked cries,
The masks becoming dirt, pouring over blood caked eyes
Whose faces were fading, aging faster than their souls.
My spent body’s cold, though I’m sixteen years old; now
Home again, home again, I will tread no more.