Just dirt and dust, doomed.
A thousand men, one marching order. Weapon in hand, hey corpses, march forward.
No looking back, infantry ahead.
A thousand men, one marching order. Nobody stops them, they run to their deaths.
On this day man is sown in the field.
Blood and bones, a path of flesh and dirt.
A thousand men Ground level, a weight of cruelty.
A quiet cry, tells of suffering and death.
Today the seeds are planted and graves are thanks to the harvest.
Just dirt and dust , doomed.
A thousand men, one marching order. Weapon in hand, hey corpses, march forward.
No looking back, infantry ahead.
A thousand men, one marching order. Nobody can stop them, they run to their deaths.
It's harvest time. Quiet screams in the distance.
It's over. A thousand men with one fate.
All run to their deaths.
Man sown in the field.
Man sown in the field, corpses ready for the harvest.
Not a single one, who stands longer, no, they didn't get far.

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