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THE CROSSES GROW ON ANZIO Oh, gather 'round me, comrades;
and listen while I speak
Of a war, a war, a war
where hell is six feet deep.
Along the shore,
the cannons roar.
Oh how can a soldier sleep?
The going's slow on Anzio.
And hell is six feet deep. Praise be to God
for this captured sod
that rich with blood does seep.
With yours and mine,
like butchered swine's;
and hell is six feet deep.
That death awaits
there's no debate;
no triumph will we reap.
The crosses grow on Anzio,
where hell is six feet deep. . . . Audie Murphy, 1948 |
