Acrid smoke of devils plumes across the field of battle looms.
Standing low amidst the trench, the 57th Battalion wrench.
Tense and ready at command, surveying eyes sway the land.
A final yell to which they charge, hurtling fury through hell and glory.
One by side each man does drop lastly rested upon the top.
Silence follows then raise a cheer, that’s three feet gained in under year.
Count them now fifty seven to the last, holding his banner standing fast.
58th shall come and burn, before the world of soldiers torn.
To see one day a land of peace, amidst this sea of blood and grease.



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