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Bells to the End
The fading sound of a bell,
Is the only sound heard
In this tattered land that they dwell.
Surviving each bombardment and shell,
Their voices fall mute and slurred.
The fading sound of a bell.
A repulsive, sordid smell
The year of the third
In this tattered land that they dwell.
A life of hell,
Their spoils rotten and curd.
The fading sound of a bell.
With so many souls to sell,
Coffins for the stiff and the stirred
In this tattered land that they dwell.
“Sound off the knell,”
Silence, before ringing off to the herd.
The fading sound of a bell
In this tattered land that they dwell.
