Peninsula of Graves / Black Mass of Pazzuzu

A narrowing of the vision and a tightening of the chest We are told to hop the bags I guess the officers know best A harrowing of the vision and an uncanny lack of breath The first waves failed before us, charged into certain death Corpses piled above us, minutes before were fit young men Can't the officers see the slaughter will happen once again I now wait for the whistle, its sharp call shall send me to my grave I tremble and despair, a quick death is all that I now crave We step onto the firing step from which we shall push forth No bullets in our rifles, our bayonets pointing north My vision it is blurring from a stream of uncontrollable tears I farewell the bloke beside me, his eyes mirror my own fears.

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 25, 2025

Up Monash Valley he slipped and strained Amongst a company of the 4th brigade To a post filled with the dead and the maimed On Gallipoli where the legend was made The rumor had spread far and wide Of Quinn's Post where a few could survive Bombs coming in like an evening tide Where only death, flies, and lice could thrive A frantic arrival, a mad dash to the trench Sniper rifle firing a welcoming chant Unburied bodies and their gut turning stench A vacant eyed digger and his mumbling chant "A day in hell doesn't equal An hour in these trenches Take me back to the Wazza With those buxom wenches" Trenches so close you can hear a Turk cough No smoking at the front, you'll get us all shot A noise to the front, jam tin bombs thrown aloft Fuses too long, the bastards returned the lot.

Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 25, 2025

Buried alive yet once again, the earth heaves as though it breathes A deafening roar and a wave of soil, the taste of dirt in the mouth it leaves Dug out yet again by mates so dear It's not the shrapnel now we fear Buried for a minute you feel your mind slipping away The second time it happens your nerves begin to fray An unending barrage in this brown desolation My soul has been shaken to its foundation.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 25, 2025

The boats they held thirty Strong tanned arms rowed them true In front up high on ridges Awaited turkish machine gun crews Had they known what would happen Once the boats scrapped the rocky shore The would have bloody well rowed faster To begin the terribly futile war 4:30 arrived with bullets Death came raining down Australians fell in numbers As they leapt from boat to ground 25th of April, morning of the brave The peak of adventure A Peninsula of Graves Many escaped death and injury Adrenalin sent them up the slopes The first to kill a Turk Were many a man's hopes They were told to spare their bullets The bayonet they were to use This was to the diggers' liking The hellish landing had lit their short fuse They swept Johnny Turk before them Dug in on ridges high They would get not much further Though months would pass 'em by 25th of April, mourning of the brave The peak of adventure A Peninsula of Graves.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 25, 2025

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