sailing through the winds,
my tail's a propeller and my legs a diesel engine.
I carry my master into no man's land —
whistling artillery, barbs, and spikes,
nothing shall stop me.

barley and wheat, my sustenance.
I know where to go, where to be —
only I do not know where not to be.
many a comrade has ridden into the Lord's *****,
never to return.

I scare not of the Maxim,
for they care not at whom they aim.
we are the bearers of fate,
carrying men to their destiny since time before.

this field of green earth is all I need.