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The Grave

To those fallen in war, no matter how courageously they fell. War is never at a lack for horrors.





The Grave

by Don McLean

The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone
He’s gone

When the wars of our nation did beckon
A man barely twenty did answer the calling
Proud of the trust that he placed in our nation
He’s gone
But eternity knows him, and it knows what we’ve done

And the rain fell like pearls on the leaves of the flowers
Leaving brown, muddy clay where the earth had been dry
And deep in the trench he waited for hours
As he held to his rifle and prayed not to die

But the silence of night was shattered by fire
As guns and grenades blasted sharp through the air
And one after another his comrades were slaughtered
In a morgue of marines, alone standing there

He crouched ever lower, ever lower with fear
"They can’t let me die! They can’t let me die here!
I’ll cover myself with the mud and the earth.
I’ll cover myself! I know I’m not brave!
The earth! The earth! The earth is my grave."

The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors,
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone.
He’s gone.

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