Nathan Rogers - Hold the line

We were ^Ffarmboys in the spring of 'four^Gteen A ^Ffew miles from mother's door the furthest I'd ever ^Gbeen. ^FOne short month of training and we're ^Coff to foreign ^Gshores to ^Dmho-^Amld the ^Gline.

And now a ^Fyear's gone by and I've never let my ^Gmind count the ^Fminutes of these murders, the brothers now be^Ghind. "We'll ^Fall go home by Christmas. The ^Cweather will be ^Gkind. Will you ^Dmho-^Amld the ^Gline?"

"Your mask pro^Ftects you from the poison yellow ^Gsmoke." "They will ^Ftime their charge to take you when they think the line has ^Gbroken." "^FNone of them expecting that we ^Cgot their trenches ^Gmined." "And we'll ^Dmho-^Amld the ^Gline."

They ^Fsent us out to murder on the ^Cempty foreign ^Gfields. There is ^Dmcrimson in the ^Amumber of a ^Gkind that doesn't yield. Our ^Fyouth gave in to anger, our ^Cshoulder to the ^Gtoil. A ^Dmmillion ^Amnames and ^Gfaces in a mile of bloody soil.

Have ^FI been here a lifetime or just these thousand horrid ^Gdays? Will the ^Fguns ever go silent? Will the winds of time ^Gerase the ^Fscars upon the ^Cbattlefield? The ^Gwound within our mind while we ^Dmho-^Amld the ^Gline?

And of all the ^Ffaces that have come and gone (while in this tomb I've ^Ggrown), The ^Fone I've come to like the least's the one that is my ^Gown. For ^Fwithin this bloodied hero a ^Cmurderer you ^Gfind and you ^Dmho-^Amld the ^Gline. ^DmHo-^Amld the ^Gline.