Don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t—look at what’s in front of you;
Boots—boots—boots—boots—moving up and down again;
Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watching ’em.
An’ there’s no discharge in the war.
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Try—try—try—try—to think o’ something different—
Oh—my—God—keep—me from going lunatic!
Boots—boots—boots—boots—moving up and down again
An’ there’s no discharge in the war.
We—can—stick—out—’unger, thirst, an’ weariness,
But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of ’em—