Based on Canada'a Golgotha by Francis Derwent Wood It's the dead of night and you are sound asleep inside the trench you dug.  Dreaming of home, or the Kizar, or some froline, I dunno what Jerries think about.  It's cold, dirty, damp. I'm coming to take you out of your misery. In the shadows we lurk, clad in darkness and wearing more blackface than an American minstrel show.  In my hand a butcher's cleaver, readied over you.  Why not just shoot you?  Simple - guns are loud, k