In The Midst Of Death
Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2015 6:53 pm
When I was young and in my prime
a lad of seventeen
they sent me off to foreign climes
to serve my country and my King;
A fresh faced kid without a clue
naive to say the least,
lined up with comrades brave and true
to be the cannons feast.
They told us keep yer rifles clean
and keep yer powder dry
and when we charge don´t be afraid
just look em in the eye;
I can still recall that mournful sound
of the whistle blown at dawn,
it was up and over and into hell,
that´s where we went that morn.
All around us bodies fell
as we pushed on through the smoke,
bullet and shell were rained on us
and the stench of cordite made us choke;
A grenade explodes can´t hear a thing
body burning shrapnel stings,
fell face down in the mud and gore
not wanting to die in this futile war.
So I´m on my feet and charging blind
to the sound of machine gun fire,
body disjointed from the mind,
damn the sound of machine gun fire;
But then above the cannons roar
a familiar voice from English shores,
“Get up my son”. It called again
“Go back the way that you just came”
I thought that I was hearing things
my mother’s voice, had taken wings,
“Go back my son, don’t be afraid”
I didn’t think I just obeyed;
As I left the hole where I had been
a shell blew it to smithereens,
I limped back to our lines once more
in a daze, body drained and sore.
“This way my son” called the voice again
guiding me through smoke and flame,
as I reached the line from whence we’d started
the voice it faded and then departed;
Whilst I lay bleeding on the ground
I heard the medics gather round,
“All right now, don’t struggle son
Yer’ve gone and copped a blighty one.
Now I am home and safe once more
just another casualty of war,
when I came around in my hospital bed
my father looked at me and said
“There’s something I must tell you son,
I’m afraid it´s about your poor old Mum”
“I know dad you don’t have to say
she passed away the other day”
I know you won’t believe it true
but she saved my life, guided me to you,
so don’t cry dad, she has not gone
in the midst of death life does go on.
a lad of seventeen
they sent me off to foreign climes
to serve my country and my King;
A fresh faced kid without a clue
naive to say the least,
lined up with comrades brave and true
to be the cannons feast.
They told us keep yer rifles clean
and keep yer powder dry
and when we charge don´t be afraid
just look em in the eye;
I can still recall that mournful sound
of the whistle blown at dawn,
it was up and over and into hell,
that´s where we went that morn.
All around us bodies fell
as we pushed on through the smoke,
bullet and shell were rained on us
and the stench of cordite made us choke;
A grenade explodes can´t hear a thing
body burning shrapnel stings,
fell face down in the mud and gore
not wanting to die in this futile war.
So I´m on my feet and charging blind
to the sound of machine gun fire,
body disjointed from the mind,
damn the sound of machine gun fire;
But then above the cannons roar
a familiar voice from English shores,
“Get up my son”. It called again
“Go back the way that you just came”
I thought that I was hearing things
my mother’s voice, had taken wings,
“Go back my son, don’t be afraid”
I didn’t think I just obeyed;
As I left the hole where I had been
a shell blew it to smithereens,
I limped back to our lines once more
in a daze, body drained and sore.
“This way my son” called the voice again
guiding me through smoke and flame,
as I reached the line from whence we’d started
the voice it faded and then departed;
Whilst I lay bleeding on the ground
I heard the medics gather round,
“All right now, don’t struggle son
Yer’ve gone and copped a blighty one.
Now I am home and safe once more
just another casualty of war,
when I came around in my hospital bed
my father looked at me and said
“There’s something I must tell you son,
I’m afraid it´s about your poor old Mum”
“I know dad you don’t have to say
she passed away the other day”
I know you won’t believe it true
but she saved my life, guided me to you,
so don’t cry dad, she has not gone
in the midst of death life does go on.
Written by myself and my friend Nigel.