Six hundred rode on to their bloody deaths,
To a chorus of cannons and last breaths.
Cardigan’s men lay dead on the cold ground.
Cries of death and pain filled the sky with sound.
Into the valley of death rode the men,
Against the fire, into the Devil’s den.
Under the moon in an October night,
Six hundred soldiers fought the Russian might.
They charged onward into the mouth of hell.
Hundreds dreamt of death while few lived to tell.
A light brigade was shattered in the war.
Much life was lost to pointless blood and gore.