I’m not deceiving, really,
It’s true, upon my word!
One morning I was nearly
Shot by a firing squad.

Why did this silly, saddening
Misfortune come my way?
I know it but that’s something
I’m not supposed to say.

Commander almost saved my life
But somebody insisted: "Execute!".
The squad had worked it out well enough,
But there was one who didn’t want to shoot.

Misfortune for some reason
Had been attending me:
I captured once a prisoner
But somehow let him flee.

The sneak, who was a sort of
A fidget, a strange lot,
Had made a mental note
of that case, for his report.

Then he disclosed it, and he brought along
The filed material he had, the brute!
No one could help it, the effect was strong...
But there was one who didn’t want to shoot.

The hand fell in the abyss,
And "Fire!" was the word,
Thus I was given access
To the unknown world.

But then I heard a shout:
"He is alive. How nice!
Now call the doc. We cannot
Execute him twice.".

The doctor clicked his tongue and, with a sigh,
Extracted all my bullets, pitching mood,
Meanwhile I was delirious, and I
Kept talking to the one who didn’t shoot.

I licked the wounds, and never
Took treatment, it would seem;
In hospitals, however,
I was in high esteem,

Beloved and well reputed
By all the sisterhood:
"Come, you, half-executed,
A shot will do you good.".

Our battalion fought on the Crimean shore,
And I would send glucose there, when I could,
To sweeten up the bitter pill of war
For that same man, the one who didn’t shoot.

I had my tea and drowned
In spirit now and then;
So I did not break down
And went to fight again.

I joined my own unit.
"Fight on, - the major said, -
I’m glad they failed to do it,
and you were not shot dead".

I should have felt quite happy, but instead
I howled like a wolf, in a terrific mood,
Because a German sniper shot me dead
By killing that same man who didn’t shoot.