The Men of No Man's Land

Carry your cross, to the muddied step of Golgotha
 Through the widening gyre; in the absence of everything
 Carry your cross, to the muddied step of Golgotha
 For a cause not known to the gods of our fathers
 The earth did tremble, the skies did cry
 It was our turn to play God
 As we carried our cross
 To Flanders, where the pipers played the song of Caber Fidh
 To Flanders, in joyful march
 To Flanders, here we were the men of no man's land
 To Flandеrs, where war was changed forеver
 To Somme, to Ypres, to Passchendaele
 For a thousand days we wore the mark of Cain
 We band our sorrow again
 On the bloody fields of Flanders
 We were the men of no man's land
 Then came the gas; a harbinger of misfortune
 Where all life did die, and by God the stench was infernal
 Yet we carried our cross, to the muddied step of Golgotha
 Where the earth did tremble, and the skies did cry
 Yet we carried our cross through the muddied step of Golgotha
 And like the birth of a pregnant insectWe went over the top
 To Flanders, through the gaping shell-holes filled with decaying flesh
 To Flanders, thrust in the barbed-wire
 To Flanders, "the worms crawled in, the worms crawled out."
 To Flanders, where these days will live in infamy
 I prayed for that cliff to come
 But it never came
 (And) On the eleventh hour
 Of the eleventh day
 Of the eleventh month
 The guns fell silent
 "In Flanders fields the poppies blow
 Between the crosses, row on row
 That mark our place; and in the sky
 The larks, still bravely singing, fly
 Scarce heard amid the guns below
 We are the dead, short days ago
 We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
 Loved and were loved, and now we lie
 In Flanders fields
 Take up our quarrel with the foe:
 To you from failing hands we throw
 The torch; be yours to hold it high
 If ye break faith with us who die
 We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
 In Flanders fields."