You'll take my life, but I'll take yours too.
You'll fire your musket, but [bad word] you through,
So, when you're waiting for the next attack,
You'd better stand, there's no turning back.
The bugle sounds, and the charge begins,
But on this battlefield no one wins.
The smell of acrid smoke and horses breath,
As I plunge on into certain death.

The horse, he sweats, with fear, we break [bad word] 
The mighty roar of [bad word] guns,
And as we race towards the human wall,
The screams of pain, as [bad word] fall.
We hurdle bodies, that lay on the ground,
And [bad word] fire another round.
We get so near, yet so far away.
We won't live to fight another day.

We get so close, near enough to fight.
When [bad word] gets me in his sights,
He pulls the trigger, and I feel the blow.
burst of rounds take my horse below.
And as I lay there, gazing at the sky,
My body's numb, and my throat is dry,
And as I lay forgotten and alone,
Without a tear, I draw my parting groan.