Will they hear the whispered prayers
Within the anguish of our screams
And watch as hope spills from our eyes
Drown in the blood of dreams?
Will they cling onto our bodies
In tangled barbs of wire
And feel our muscles dance and rip
To the thud of bullet fire?
Will they feel the fiery furnace
Forge through burning breath
And see our warm smiles melt away
In a grotesque grin of death?
Will they try to catch our innards
As they ooze through tattered wounds
And smell the stench of bloodied shit
As it splatters to the ground?
Will they grind our bones beneath their feet
In the slaughter fields of France
And sense lost souls depart this World
As we leave our earthly dance?
Will they ring the bells and drink a toast
To our daring deeds of yore?
Or hear our ghostly voice proclaim
“There’s no honour in our deaths – No glory in our war”
