Gethsemane

The Garden called Gethsemane In Picardy it was, And there the people came to see The English soldiers pass. We used to pass — we used to pass Or halt, as it might be, And ship our masks in case of gas Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane, It held a pretty lass, But all the time she talked to me  I prayed my cup might pass. The officer sat on the chair, The men lay on the grass, And all the time we halted there I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass — it didn’t pass — It didn’t pass from me. I drank it when we met the gas Beyond Gethsemane.