Chitter chatter, chitter chatter
Melody of German machine-guns
Spaying death into no-man's land
Cutting down Tommies
Like a harvester slicing through wheat.
Chitter chatter, chitter chatter
Nowhere to run and hide
Tommies calling for mothers
Some dying alone in the mud
Others tangled upon the wire.
Chitter chatter, chitter chatter
Germans want to stop the dance of death
But Tommies keep on coming
And with new belts of bullets
Hell comes to the Western Front.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem