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Those Who Die!
The grocer’s son is on Saigon,
The baker’s now in Rome.
The newsboy that we used to have
Lies buried far from home.
The little laundry man is gone,
He lies there waiting, still,
For the transport that will carry him
Back home from Bougainville.
At Kasserine the Plumber’s boy
Picked up a shrapnel bit,
And in London’s robot-bombing hell
Our neighbor’s son was hit.
Three schoolboys lie in Coral Seas,
No more their tramping feet,
Will echo through the corridors
Though the enemy retreat.
With what adventurous spirit
Those youngsters joined the fray,
The morning of December 8th,
I’ve ne’er forget that day.
At Anzie the fruit man’s son
Fell from a sniping Hun,
And many kids my youngster knew
Lie dying in the sun.
That rich kid on the corner
We used to think so swell
Chalked up his fifteenth Zero
And, died in a fiery hell.
The grocer’s a Norwegian,
The finest boy we knew,
The baker was Bohemian,
The newsboy was a Jew.
So rich and poor alike they fall,
A price they’re glad to pay
To cleanse the world of tyranny,
And pave a better way.
And shall we fail those boys who die
Their sacrifice in vain?
Let’s conquer greed and lust and hate,
And make Honor rise again.
Frank Eisenberg
Universal Pictures
Minneapolis, Minn.
August 6, 1944