red memories of ypres,so long ago
fiery troops left as smoldering embers
broken dreams,shattered like glass
the edges still sharp,to slash and dismember

wasted lives? or noble ends?-innocent victims,lay staring in wonder
troubled minds go over the edge,fall to the ground, and are torn asunder

battle weary patriots,in blood stained uniforms
trading death with the enemy,in the volleying cannon storms

noble lives, with wasted ends-fates are controlled by impersonal friends
fragile lives,hang on delicate threads
woven through hell-and cut short

charging towards,the battlefront,attacking underfire
injured soldiers in the aftermath,waiting in pain,to die!