The hissing and the screams
Rose by the first evening shade
A young man bereft of further days
Collapses at my officer's feet
His bleeding eye lay still
As if he caught his final glimpse of home
A battalion of broken men
Rushing away by the tracks
The wind starts to blow our way
And a sickly cloud starts to crawl
It paves its path with the fallen
It makes its way uphill
Alas
We hear the call
I'm my father's son
A rifle
Shoved in my hand
To plough the fields
With my comrades early graves
Day 278
I plough the field and feed the herd
One more grey day
And no news from the front
I walk through the rose garden
I fetch water from the well
But still no news
Then from the northern path
Comes a military carriage
I get a mail from the front
I break the red army seal
My hands are trembling
As the words slip past my eyes
He has fallen at Ypres
The news echo through the fields
Grave silence falls upon the trees
My son falls at Ypres
They snatched the rifle from his hand
He was told to lie down gazing at the sky
He was coughing blood, gazing a blind stare
I'm left with a medal and a flag
Alas
A father's son
To heed his clarion call
A rifle
Shoved in his hand
To feed the gaping earth
Lone memories left behind
Solemn figures to grieve the passing time
I scream it to the winds
I scratch it on my skin
His name is drowned in vain
The world will forsake my woe
A world hollow forever more