When from rifles of warriors I leap;
And the pictures grow dim, and the pictures grow blank,
But the weeds on this field will grow poison and rank.
Siep! siep! siep!
The blood runs apace, and gone is the face
Of baby and wife,
Of love and of life.
Siep! siep! siep!
When from rifles of warriors I leap.
This, this is why sweet children cry