The Grave by Don McLean

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

When the war 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.

The rain fell like pearls on the leaves of the flower
Leaving brown muddy clay where the earth had been dry
And deep in the trench he waited for our words
As he held to his rifle and prayed not to die.
But the silence of the night was shattered by the fire
As guns and grenades blasted sharp through the air
One after another his comrades were slaughtered
In the morgue of marine 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 colours,
And the brown earth bleached white at the edge of his gravestone
He’s gone.