A

short

man

from

Tex-

as,

a

man

of

the

wild

Thrown

in-

to

com-

bat,

where

bo-

dies

lie

piled

Fights

his

e-

mo-

tions,

his

blood's

run-

ning

cold,

just

like

his

vic-

tor-

ies,

his

sto-

ry

un-

folds

Bright,

a

white

light

If

there'd

be

a-

ny

glo-

ry

in

war

Let

it

rest

on

men

like

him

Dead

men

will

ne-

ver

come

back

Cro-

sses

grow

on

An-

zi-

o,

where

no

sold-

iers

sleep

and

where

hell's

six

feet

deep

The

death

does

wait,

there's

no

de-

bate

So

charge

and

at-

tack,

go-

ing

to

hell

and

back!

A

man

of

the

fif-

teenth,

a

man

of

can

do,

friends

fall

a-

round

him,

but

yet

he

came

through

let

them

fall

face

down,

if

they

must

die,

ma-

king

it

ea-

sier

to

saay

good-

bye

Bright,

a

white

light

If

there'd

be

a-

ny

glo-

ry

in

war

Let

it

rest

on

men

like

him

Who

went

to

hell

and

came

back.

Cro-

sses

grow

on

An-

zi-

o,

where

no

sold-

iers

sleep

and

the

hell's

six

feet

deep

The

death

does

wait,

there's

no

de-

bate

So

charge

and

at-

tack,

go-

ing

to

hell

and

back!

Oh,

gat-

her

'round

me,

and

lis-

ten

while

I

speak,

of

a

war,

where

hell

is

six

feet

deep,

and

all

a-

long

the

shore,

where

can-

nons

still

roar,

they're

haun-

ting

my

dreams,

they're

still

there

when

I

sleep!

He

saw

cro-

sses

grow

on

An-

zi-

o,

where

no

sold-

iers

sleep

and

the

hell's

six

feet

deep

The

death

does

wait,

there's

no

de-

bate

He

charged

and

at-

tacked,

he

went

to

hell

and

back!