When I'm killed, don't think of me Buried there in Cambrin Wood, Nor as in Zion think of me With the Intolerable Good. And there's one thing that I know well, I'm damned if I'll be damned to Hell!
So when I'm killed, don't wait for me, Walking the dim corridor; In Heaven or Hell, don't wait for me, Or you must wait for evermore. You'll find me buried, living-dead In these verses that you've read.
So when I'm killed, don't mourn for me, Shot, poor lad, so bold and young, Killed and gone—don't mourn for me. On your lips my life is hung: O friends and lovers, you can save Your playfellow from the grave.