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  • 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
    killing time '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 of fear and 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 barbwire
    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
    everyman 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 in Paschendale

    Dodging shrapnel and barbwire
    running straight at 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
    feel the blood go down my throat

    See my spirit on the wind
    across the lines beyond the hill
    friend and foe will meet again
    those who died at Paschendale
  • 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
    killing time '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 of fear and 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 barbwire
    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
    everyman 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 in Paschendale

    Dodging shrapnel and barbwire
    running straight at 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
    feel the blood go down my throat

    See my spirit on the wind
    across the lines beyond the hill
    friend and foe will meet again
    those who died at Paschendale