The Fields of the North

The bite of winter is omnipresent

As the boom of a cannon echoes

Carrying with it a blanket of sound and death

The drums of war beat like the pounding of your heart

Hiding behind trench walls that are only a false sense of protection

In the fields of the north you charge

Then a thick feeling of dread

As a machine gun lights the stars

With the promise of only eternal night

Raising cries of men that end too soon

The bite of winter is omnipresent

With snow falling on cold corpses

The empty field once full of life

Which choose to follow a fancy of glory

Now a grave of all but the lucky

In the fields of the north you charge

A chance, a moment of elation

The savior of countless men and minds

As a dry click stretches for years across the field

And you make it to the next trench

The bite of winter is omnipresent

As the warm breath of life spills from you

Falling as others take your place

For what is one piece in a game?

If not a pawn to die for others