The Crosses Grow on Anzio Oh, gather ' round me, comrades; and listen while I speak, Of a war, a war, a war where hell is six feet deep. Along the shore, the cannons roar. Oh how can a soldier sleep. The goings slow on Anzio. And hell is six feet deep. Praise be to God for this captured sod that rich with blood does seep. With yours and mine, like butchered swine's; and hell is six feet deep. That death awaits there's no debate; no triumph will we reap. The crosses grow on Anzio, where hell is six feet deep. Audie Murphy, 1948. Beloud