“Straight up and over, men!”

The general’s call, muffled.

The pitiful soldiers trudged,

Where no man should stand.

They were like fans in a stadium,

Like hairs on a head,

Like seeds in the field

Where no man should stand.

 

A faint whistle, above their ears;

Gas, gas, could it be?

The greatest fear is approaching,

Where no man should stand.

 

The fumbling, a little too late;

The oxygen, a little too corrupted;

The bodies, a little too crowded,

Where no man should land.