Those good old boys
That rode the sea
To storm the beaches
At Normandy
Knew all to well
Right from the start
Most of those men
Would not come back

Yet still they filed
Into the fight
From landing craft
They did alight
Their weapons charged
Bayonets fixed
Surging forward
Into the mix

Bullets flying
All around
Screaming comrades
On the ground
Blood in the sand
Stained with red
Brothers in arms
Laying dead

The things they did
And all they saw
The stark tragedies
Of a brutal war
Always remembered
With a silent tear
Never forgotten
Held most dear