The Great War

From these fields of green and gold,
Where stories of glory are often told,
I leave home for honour and empire,
With orders to load, aim.... and fire

Duty is to be my watchword,
To fight a noble fight,
Leaving home is easy,
To fulfil the heroes plight,

In these fields of barbwire and craters,
Where dreams of peace are left in tatters,
Empty shells of munition and men,
Will never see the light again,

Duty is my watchword,
To fight the noble fight,
I'm ready In the trenches,
With the enemy in my sight,

In these fields of death and comradely 
Where the greatest tool seems to be the diary,
Mud and blood smear sight and ink,
There is too much time to sit and think,

Duty is My watchword,
To fight the noble fight,
My comrades have gone over,
Leaving me contrite,

In these fields of bodies and stench,
Where the Loneliest place seems to be the trench,
It was Christmas when it'll all be over,
Oh, how I long for those white cliffs of Dover,

Duty is my watchword,
To fight the noble fight,
The  armistice  is declared,
Can we finally see the light?

Leaving these fields of poppies and gravestones,
Where most soldiers are now unknowns,
I grieve for friends, now long lost,
Who fell in battle, I wonder for what cost

Duty was my watchword,
I fought the noble fight,
The war to end all wars,
Lets hope the harbingers are right.