By L.J. Bosela Bombs are falling thick Set me free, let me run My heart stops its’ beat In this hour of my death Save me, Lord, take me home. Clutch my beads, shout a prayer My fate is sealed like a tomb.Close my eyes, see the cross A priest offering up the Sacrament, We are the hallowed flesh Given up by those we do not see An easy, near-forgotten sacrifice To the masters of our war. Our blood is naught but A cheap, unconsecrated libation. And now the crimson earth is Drunk with blood of the nations.Out beyond my trench- A fitting grave for this mass of men- The…