In a camp of Nipa shacks lost deep in the Philippines,
Are group of forgotten men with nothing left but dreams.
We're fighting a greater battle now than the one that we fought and lost.
It's a battle against the elements, a battle with life the cost.
Some came through the awful torture - of days and nights in Hell,
I'm from Bataan - where many a brave man fell.
But now, it's not how much you know, or how quick you can hit the ditch,
It's not the rating you once held, or whether your poor or rich.
No one cares who you know back home, or what sort of life you led,
It's just how long you can stick it out that governs your life instead.
This battle we're fighting at present is against mosquitoes, flies, and disease.
But with decent living conditions we could fight our cause with ease.
It's rice for breakfast, noon, and night;
It's greens most every day.
We sleep on bamboo slats at night, we have no better place to stay.
We eat from an old tin pan we were luckily enough to get;
And the medicines that we should get, we haven't scene as yet.
We're the forgotten men from Bataan fighting the greatest battle yet,
Fighting for our existence, though we're hungry, sick, and wet.
Those of us who do come through, perhaps can prove our worth,
Ans some will tell these strange tales of a terrible Hell on Earth.
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