"I've played a lot of rolls in life;   I've met a lot of men.   I've some things I'd like to think   I wouldn't do again.   And though I'm young, I'm old enough   to know some day I'll die,   and to think about what lies beyond,   Beside whom I would lie.   Perhaps it doesn't matter much;   Still if I had my choice,   I'd want a grave, 'mongst soldiers when   At last death quells my voice.   I'm sick of the hypocrisy   of lectures of the wise.   I'll take the man, with all the flaws,   Who goes through scared, and dies.   The troops I knew were commonplace   They didn't want the war;   They fought because their Fathers and   Their Fathers had before.   They Cursed and killed and wept...   God knows.   They're easy to deride...   But, bury me with men like these;   They faced the guns and died.   It's funny when you think of it,   The way we got along.   We'd come from different worlds   To live in one where no one belongs.   I didn't even like them all;   I'm sure they'd all agree.   Yet I would give my life for them,   I know some did for me.   So bury me with soldiers, please.   Though much maligned they be.   Yes, bury me with soldiers, for I miss their company   We'll not soon see their likes again;   We've had our fill of war.   But bury me with men like them   Till someone else does more."