| «O, my brave companions
|
| When your souls flock silently away
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| And the eyeless dead shame that the wild beast of battle on the ridge
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| Death will stand grieving in that field of war
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| Since your unvanquished hardihood is spent
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| And through some mooned Valhalla there shall pass
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| Batallions and batallions, scarred from hell
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| The unreturning army that was youth
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| The legions who have suffered
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| And are dust»
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| March through the mud and the rain
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| The soldiers disappearing into the gray
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| Hopeless, they look to the sky
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| For years they have bled on the line
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| I saw them advancing
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| Into the smoke and the fire
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| They were cut down
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| I saw, as the brave men…
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| Died, by their thousands, forgotten
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| Their names carved upon a white cross
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| The rows stretch into the horizon
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| And no words can speak of the loss
|
| I saw warriors broken
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| Upon the anvil of Verdum
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| Unreturning, the legions
|
| Who suffered and are dust
|
| Our tattered banners fly in the wind
|
| Over the top, we charge again
|
| The war will be won, and God’s on our side
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| But my brave companions, why must you all die
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| Oh why?
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| WE ARE THE GUNS!
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| Saw you our work, the flashes of light
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| WE ARE THE ONES!
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| Filling the graves, the ghosts on the firing line
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| NOW IT IS DONE!
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| Our voice will be heard in the ages to come
|
| Husbands or lovers, fathers or sons
|
| We break them
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| Yes, We Are the Guns!
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| And when the guns fell silent, at last
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| There’s nothing that remains of the past
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| The world that I knew is dead and gone
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| My soul is left in ruins
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| And I cannot see the dawn |