Make his fight on the hill in the early day
     Constant chill deep inside
     Shouting gun, on [bad word] through the endless grey
     On the fight, for they are right, yes, by who's to say?
     For a hill men would kill, why? They do not know
     Suffered wounds test there their pride
     Men of five, still alive through the raging glow
     Gone insane from the pain that they surely know

               For whom the bell tolls
               Time marches on
               For whom the bell tolls