: Bitter branches spreading out. There?s none more bitter than the wood. Into the wide world, it grows, twisting under soldier?s feet, standing in
: 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
: 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
: Walker sees the mist rise Over no man's land He sees in front of him A smashed up waste ground There are no fields or trees No blades of grass Just
: (feat. Mick Harvey) Louis was my dearest friend Fighting in the ANZAC trench Louis ran forward from the line I never saw him again Later in the dark
that're crying for everything Let it burn, let it burn! Let it burn, let it burn! Let it burn, let it burn! Let it burn, let it burn!
: 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
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
Bitter branches spreading out. There?s none more bitter than the wood. Into the wide world, it grows, twisting under soldier?s feet, standing in line
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
Walker sees the mist rise Over no man's land He sees in front of him A smashed up waste ground There are no fields or trees No blades of grass Just unhurried
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
The West's asleep. Let England shake, weighted down with silent dead. I fear our blood won't rise again. England's dancing days are done. Another day
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
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
to beautiful England & the grey, damp filthiness of ages, fog rolling down behind the mountains, & on the graveyards, and dead sea-captains. Let me
I've seen and done things I want to forget; I've seen soldiers fall like lumps of meat, Blown and shot out beyond belief. Arms and legs were in the trees