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
Kill 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 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