It's nearly sunrise, heading for Normandy,
Twenty-some paratroops flying with me,

I'm watching the Jumpmaster, he's by the door,
He'll send us off, that's what we're waiting for,

This is no drill, this time it's for real,
There's a lump in my throat and a dryness I feel

In my mouth and my stomach is tightening up,
Wish I had some coffee, even one cup,

We've reached the Drop Zone, bailing out into the mist,
I'm number twelve on the Jumpmaster's order list,

Number eleven is tapped and disappears,
I'm touched and jump, wind howling in my ears,

Suddenly, it's so quiet I can hear my heart beating,
Descending into battle, there can be no retreating,

If I survive this day, dear Lord, I'll give You all the glory,
Should it be your will, let me live to tell the story.

                                                     by D. Edgar Murray