I'm stuck with sentry duty, in the still of the winter night,
And I think of my buddies, safe in their bed
After the long days fight.
I cannot take a little snooze, or smoke a cigarette,
I have to stay on duty, or C.B. is what I'll get.
Halt! Who goes there? (my god what an awful place)
I didn't get an answer, but I'm sure I saw a face.
It was white in the winter moonlight, and flashed by my vision there.
The sentry watch beside a graveyard
Is enough to turn one's hair.
The ghosts of the men that lie there are walking again tonight;
And me with a loaded rifle - in a sweat of unholy fright.
Each grave is marked with a tombstone , a symbol of R.I.P.
And soon there'll be nothing but tombstones
As far as the eye can see.
The flowers will grow in every row where survivors bury the dead.
In years to come most every one will see the white and red.
But here comes the watch to relieve me,
By God but I'm glad that's through.
There's nothing so dead as a sentry's job, when there's nothing to do.