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