Paschendale
((adrian Smith/steve Harris))
In a foreign field he lay
Lonely soldier unkown grave
On his dying words he prays
Tell the world of Paschendale
Relive all that he's been through
Last communioun of his soul
Waste your bullets with his tears
Let me tell you 'bout his years
Laying low in a blood filled trench
Killing 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 the 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
The bodies of ours and our foes
The sea of death it overflows
In no man's land god only knows
Into jaws of death we go
Crucified as if on a cross
Allied troops they mourn their loss
German war propaganda machine
Such before has never been seen
Swear I heard the angels cry
Pray to god no more may die
So that people know the truth
Tell the tale of Paschendale
Cruelty has a human heart
Everyman does play his part
Terror of the men we kill
The human heart is hungry still
I stand my ground for the very last time
Gun is ready as I stand in line
Nervous wait for the whistle to blow
Rush of blood and over we go
Blood is falling like the rain
It's crimson cloak unveils again
The sound of guns can't hide their shame
And so we die on Paschendale
Dodging sharpnel and barbed wire
Running straight at the cannon fire
Running blind as I hold my breath
Say a prayer symphony of death
As we charge the enemy lines
A burst of fire and we go down
I choke a cry but no-one hears
Fell the blood go down my throat
Home, far away
From the war, a chance to live again
Home, far away
But the war, no chance to live again
See my spirit on the wind
Across the lines beyond the hill
Friend and foe will meet again
Those who died at Paschendale
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