Paschendale

In a foreign field he lay, lonely soldier unknown grave On his dying words he prays, tell the world of Paschendale Relive all that he's been through, last communion of his soul Rust your bullets with his tears. Let me tell you 'bout his years Laying low in a blood filled trench, killing time 'til my very own death On my face I can feel the falling rain, never see my friends again In the smoke in the mud and lead, smell the fear and the feeling of dread Soon be time to go over the wall, rapid fire and the end of us all Whistles, shouts and more gun fire, lifeless bodies hang on barbed wire Battlefield nothing but a bloody tomb, be reunited with my dead friends soon Many soldiers eighteen years, drown in mud no more tears Surely a war no-one can win, killing time about to begin Home, far away, from the war, a chance to live again Home, far away, but the war, no chance to live again The bodies of ours and our foes, the sea of death it overflows In no man's land God only knows, into jaws of death we go Crucified as if on a cross, allied troops they mourn their loss German war propaganda machine, such before has never been seen Swear I heard the angels cry, pray to god no more will die So that people know the truth, tell the tale of Paschendale Cruelty has a human heart, everyman does play his part Terror of the men we kill, the human heart is hungry still I stand my ground for the very last time, gun is ready as I stand in line Nervous wait for the whistle to blow, rush of blood and over we go Blood is falling like the rain, its crimson cloak unveils again The sound of guns can't hide their shame, and so we die on Paschendale Dodging shrapnel and barbed wire, running straight at cannon fire Running blind as I hold my breath, say a prayer symphony of death As we charge the enemy lines, a burst of fire and we go down I choke a cry but no-one hears, feel the blood go down my throat Home, far away, from the war, a chance to live again Home, far away, but the war, no chance to live again See my spirit on the wind, across the lines beyond the hill Friend and foe will meet again, those who died at Paschendale