Battleship in Forty-three

My name,
Is Jeff McDougall,
I'm twenty-three,
Serving on a battleship,
In nineteen forty-three.

Although I'm not,
An Officer,
I am a seaman through and through,
Fighting the enemy,
In World war two.

As I lay,
On my bunk,
I wonder about my family,
In the fields and streets,
Back home.

Are they playing,
Baseball games,
While I hear the cannons roar,
Or gone fishing,
As I hear the battle roar.

Laying there,
I pondered,
Trying to rest,
As a low harmonica,
Playing in a bunk nearby.

A man,
About eighteen,
Who comes around Sarnia's way,
Playing a Canadian folk tune,
In the bunk nearby.

Now the,
Guns are silent,
For I stand,
This memorial site,
Who were lost at sea.

Memorial bells,
They did ring,
For each seaman,
As I remember the man,
From down Sarnia way.

My name,
Is Jeff McDougall,
Now at ninety-three,
I remember my mates,
On that battleship in forty-three.