Punctured Souls1

Armed at all time, cap-a-pie. leaving no room for tete-a-tete Dwelt amongest enemy and snake when enemy; our land they inevade other, 'r death serves as joy like the death on cross calvary oh! ay, 'r life oft citizen's life we hast forgotten our home Gun bullet o'er our head? 't is either kill or be killed widow turn our women Nay, our children, orphan for 'r punctured soul, they paid Twenty shekels, thou remembered cry, joy; on our return home cry for puntured soul, joy for enemy