The guilty live with the shame of the silent dead.
All around the thunderous guns blew earth to hell
And the bullets tore the souls from the hearts of men
The heroes died, massacred, row upon row they fell
and for a cause that’s not so glorious now, or then.
Over those silent battlefields the skylarks hover high
above the swaying waves of blood red poppy flowers
and on the hour when sanity returned they heaved a sigh
and still they sing for all mankind that madness may devour.