Upon fields far from home,
There is blood dripping on poppies,
Young lives harvested before their prime,
Their dreams and hopes seeping into foreign soil.

The sky glows with ***** rage,
Smoke screams upon the stale air,
The fire incinerates the crops of truth,
Darkness reaps a hymn through the foggy fields.

Ravens scavenge for souls,
The petals of truth wilt and burn,
Scars claw through fertile fields of earth,
The teeth of barbarism dig Death’s stinking trenches.

The blood of the Saviour,
High on the highest hill of war,
With nails of rusted meat and bone,
Play the pipes of peace and sing love’s lilting tune.