Testi:
Harvey Pj England

Death was everywhere, in the air and in the sounds coming off the mounds of Bolton's Ridge. Death's anchorage. When you rolled a smoke or told a joke

I live and die through England Through England It leaves a sadness Remedies never were within my reach I cannot go on as I am Withered vine reaching

We got up early, washed our faces, walked the fields and put up crosses. Passed through the damned mountains, went hellwards, and some of us returned

The scent of Thyme carried on the wind, stings your face into remembering cruel nature has won again. On Battleship Hill's caved in trenches, a hateful

Goddamn' Europeans! Take me back to beautiful England & the grey, damp filthiness of ages, fog rolling down behind the mountains, & on the graveyards

People throwing dinars at the belly-dancers In a sad circus by a trench of burning oil People throw belongings; a lifetime's earnings Amongst the scattered

Death was everywhere In the air and in the sounds Coming off the mounds of Bolton's Ridge Ooh, death's anchorage When you rolled a smoke or told a joke

Bitter branches spreading out There's none more bitter than the wood Into the wide world it grows Twisting under soldiers' feet Standing in line and

Walker sees the mist rise Over no man's land He sees in front of him A smashed up waste ground There are no fields or trees No blades of grass Just unhurried