What evil times has history chosen to bring us to this land?
Death and dying lie all around these field where poppies stand.
We fight this hell and pray to God we will make it through this day
But faith is lost, remembering the cost of thousands who died this way.
"O mother dear" carries in the wind from cries as men go down,
The fields are red from blood we bleed that seeps into this ground.
My time has come to meet the foe, as we go hand to hand
But what of me? my time is done, lying here upon this land.
How time will tell of the kids that fell, within this hallowed place
We fell and died upon this field in sight of God and grace.
gw
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