Anthem of the Doomed

What sound is that ghastly noise!?
Nothing but another hollow death rattle.
Stand down from your rifle’s poise.
The guns are silent from the battle.

Our bullets and theirs did their work well.
The guns added their terrible anger.
Flying shells and rounds making a hell.
For all left there; death is no stranger.

No joyful singing of the bell’s toll.
Just the priest’s cold calling tone.
No hope, dreams, nor youthful goal.
The young man has become grave bleached bone.