The shadow creeps
across the weary battlefield
through the barbed wire
which frames the bloodletting
across the weary battlefield
through the barbed wire
which frames the bloodletting
The Spector that mocks
our bunker mentality
is in reality
Death Incarnate
is in reality
Death Incarnate
Carrying a putrid smell
of blood and mud
that brings tears to the eyes
of we pawns soon to die
You never see the bullet
Death crafts with your name on it
Just the whizzing sound
that struck me down
I awake trembling
in a cold sweat
from the haunting nightmare
of my former life
which ended tragically
on the stained fields of Flanders



























