They stand outside Costa coffee shops ,
and line the street with coffees in hand  
one a year to marching band ,
this proud land ,
With wreath to place to mark the place ,
Where an Angel was carved in stone .
From blood red fields to Ashfords greens ,
a village with cart and horse ,
And three churches built to honor God that still cry out for thee .
As time has passed not much has changed ,
We still remember our dead ,
With marching bands ,
and silence .