Tom Machines
We re nigh enough for our little ones, To reach and drop The Huns !
We ll do them dead with the spatter of lead, And the spit of our little artillery! While the big ones down below
Go thud thud thud But O that smashing below !
Shrieks and groans, And the decks are slimy with blood, While stark bits of flesh and bones Slip senseless in the sea !
Blood !
But what care we! High up with our little artillery
We have our part to play : So fire away, my fighting top ! Hard hit we know We soon may go, Already the mast begins to sway, But fire away and do them dead, Do them dead until we drop Smacking in the sea!
Maskee !
Across the heaving bitterness Fighting yet we call to death
And this is life ! Life to the final stress ! O we are the toppling gods no less
Battling hell !
In the feel of eternal life no less Laughing at hell ! Tho now for us
Vast in one lightning moment of collapse All time may blast itself to nothingness!
�� �
