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by [?]

Back of the Front in this durn trainin’ camp,
Day after day we are stuck, an’ we swear
Whenever we hear th’ regular tramp
Of th’ men who are through and are goin’ somewhere.
We’re all of us willin’, but why keep us drillin’
Forever?… Just waitin’ for somethin’ to do!

At home they are readin’ th’ outlandish name
Of a battle that’s won or a hero that’s dead
Of a stunt that had won him a place in this Game–
But all that I’ve won is a cold in my head!
While others are fightin’ we’re readin’ or writin’–
An’ the censors will see that it don’t get to you!

We long for a scrap that will sizzle the blood;
We hone for a chance to bust in a head;
This marchin’ an’ diggin’ in acres of mud
Ain’t as excitin’ as bein’ plain dead.
War may be a curse, but this here is worse–
This dreamin’ th’ dreams that never come true.

All set for a mix-up that we can’t begin;
Ready and anxious for whatever comes,
We’re linked to the side-lines…. Ain’t it a sin,
Spendin’ good hours a-twiddlin’ thumbs?
Seems like a crime to waste so much time
A-waitin’–an’ waitin’! You’d find it so, too.

My bunkie is peevish, and I’m out of tune;
The Capting’s a grouch whenever we hike;
If we don’t get into this muss pretty soon,
We fellers are likely to go on a strike!
We signed for a scrap, not a tea or a nap,
Or to wait,
And to wait,
And to wait–
Till it’s through!