I lived a while on Corregidor Isle, oh that sunkist God-cursed land
Where bomb and shell made life a hell with death on either hand
Then I got the thirst of the cursed with no water to be had
I heard men scream in that hellish dream and watched my friends go mad
Tis no man's fault, the water's salt or that the food is gone
Or that the guns are manned by men damned to face death with every dawn
Some hold their breath and wait the death that comes with bursting shell
As bombers moan something of home or what they will do in hell
When our bones blend with the stones you'll hear the parrots cry
Those men who owned those splendid bones were not afraid to die
