Paroles:
Harvey Pj

How is our glorious country ploughed? Not by iron ploughs Our lands is ploughed by tanks and feet, Feet Marching Oh, America Oh, England How is our glorious

Death was everywhere, in the air and in the sounds coming off the mounds of Bolton's Ridge. Death's anchorage. When you rolled a smoke or told a joke,

We got up early, washed our faces, walked the fields and put up crosses. Passed through the damned mountains, went hellwards, and some of us returned,

I live and die through England Through England It leaves a sadness Remedies never were within my reach I cannot go on as I am Withered vine reaching from

I think I saw you in the shadows I move in closer beneath your windows Who would suspect me of this rapture? And who but my black hearted love And who

Erica, Erica Is watching Danielle, Danielle Is hiding Erica, Erica Is counting Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen Twelve, eleven, ten, nine Erica, Erica Is

The scent of Thyme carried on the wind, stings your face into remembering cruel nature has won again. On Battleship Hill's caved in trenches, a hateful

I went to you, a woman-man A courageous friend, I thought But turned out so wrong was I When we were up against the wall He had chicken-liver balls He

Where, where have you gone? Daniel, my only son I, I even slept with you To be here in your chair Sitting in your favourite chair When you snuck into