They'll lift us from beneath the wreckage
Remove our bodies from the fray
While fire and thunder from the cannons
Escort us on our final way

And telegrams will set a-flying
To notify our next of kin:
Your son will never be returning
On leave he won't be stopping in

His mother wails in the corner
His father swats a creeping tear
His love will never know for certain
What fate befell her tanker dear

photo on her shelf will linger 
Among the yellowed books forlorn
In tanker's garment, epaulets on
And fiancé to her no more.