We are the army of the damned
Men of a far forgotten land
Thousands of years have passed us by
And still you will hear our cry
We left our homes to fight this war
We don't remember what twas for
Still we advance both day and night
Until the time comes to fight
And so they flee from us
Our kindred and our kind
They will not stand for us
And all that we have been
The blood will flow for us
Forever and a day
Our oaths are broken by their sin
We gave up all that we could giv
So that our children could but live
We march forever to the drum
Of battle that will not come
We hear our lovers cry
Though they are dead and gone
We hear our comrades sing
That everlasting song
We cannot feel the sun
Though morning has but come
We are but shadows of the past
We are the army of the damned
Men of a far forgotten land
What I would give to see her face
And love her once more
(Brian Blessed performs the poem
"Suicide In The Trenches" by Siegfried Sassoon)
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
