Here In The Trenches The Fist Of The Beast For Fear Of An Atmosphere Poisoned Deceased With A Gas Mask To Keep Me-from Breathing My Death It's American Soil I Hope For At Best But The Duty I Serve Can't Begin To Compare To My Ancestors Battles And Wars Throughout The Years Though The Loneliness Strikes Like An Enemy Shell I Pray For My Home But Still Sit Here In Hell Sail Away To A Place That's Unknown Taken Away From My Friends And My Home To A Place They Call Sacred A Place I Call Hell I Long For That Corner I Once Knew So Well Go To The Grind It's All That I Have Work On And On With Nothing To Show But A Graying Face In This Dying Place That's A Lock In My Solitude I Think Of A Place On A Faraway Coast Where Friends Are Dear And There's Reason To Toast A Cloudy Dark Images Of A Middle East Land Comes Down And Wrecks My Hopeful Land