Walked I along this winter's morn
midst trees with bright red berries borne
where once men stood with mighty shields
on England's ****** battlefields.

And in uncivil - Civil War
friends killed friends who'd lived next door
but lines were drawn and power revealed
where once such things had been concealed.

How many men and women died
for pious thoughts and English pride
whose wasted lives now lie beneath
that trampled o'er when we cross heath.

The bodies fall, the numbers rise
more victims of political lies
and yet some people still would fight
convinced that they are in the right.

‘twas ever thus and shall remain
the populace feel power's disdain
yet even now we fight their wars
with they as pimps and we their ******.

©Joe Wilson - The numbers rise...2015