They called him forth, and gaily he went,
To the stomping grounds of the dead.
There he played and sang loud songs,
Telling others his stories.

It was summer by the time he launched o’er
O’er the top they were made to go.
Reaching for the enemy land,
Sweating as his rifle made him fall.

The skies ahead were darkening by the day,
Sensing the misfortunes below.
He was thrusted in the middle of...