| In a foreign field he lay Lonely soldier, unknown grave
 On his dying words he prays
 Tell the world of Paschendale
 
 Relive all that he's been through
 Last communion of his soul
 Rust your bullets with his tears
 Let me tell you 'bout his years
 
 Laying low in a blood filled trench
 Kill Tim '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
 Every man 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
 Its crimson cloak unveils again
 The sound of guns can't hide their shame
 And so we die on Paschendale
 
 Dodging shrapnel 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
 HATA BİLDİR
 
 
 
 
 
 
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