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