My war in the forest of biafra.

It was a dreary night
The combat climate looms

Like a dark cloud over rickety defenses

Lying on the tracks of enemy guns

We the expendable battalion in front
With alternative eyes, assessing minds
He hunters from the sky
At any slack moment of surveillance

We must charge this very night
To win our “Biafra” back for us
To be free from absurd ordeals
To seize back our liberty
We must take it with a fight

To be recognized, we must advance
They charged us back again
With men falling on both sides
In compliment of unburied corpses
Some apparently quite uninjured

The horrid war kept changing sides
With dooms of slaughtered innocents
But each army kept fighting

Machine guns roaring
And motar music murmur
Alongside clattering of bombs and bullet
Soon enough a reveille bullet was fired
This was the last round
Where they fell there they still lay
But we lucky chaps still were standing.