Thistle Alley - Fish

Rockets are flying, signal distress over no man’s land

With hopes they are fading‚ splutter and die in a leaden sky

The wounded resignation‚ the corpses on the wire

A frozen tableaux flickers in the light

Flares are falling‚ chasing the shadows, nervous eyes, huddled in silence

Hugging the earth‚ biding time

Motionless as spiders caught out on a killing floor

Muffled picks and shovels hold their still

Praying for the darkness to return and hide the graves they are opening

The graves they are digging

A storm of fire and metal tears the wood asunder

Shatters stumps of scorched and splintered trees

Cowering in the mud within the roots, incessant thunder

Tormented shredded souls are torn apart

Deep beneath the surface the chalk yields to the chisels

Bloodied fingers tear the face away

Hollowing the chambers along dark stygian tunnels

Hooded candles light the spectres way

Dragons crawl the ridges towards the spires on new horizons

Ploughing through the charnel pits and gore

The spawn of death’s invention, a victory their burden

The promise stalls and wallows in the mire

High above the stage‚ a chorus of dark angels

A circus joins the theatre of war

The props are in position, fuses primed and ready

The wires pulse the signal cue the mine exploding

The graves are opening

The dead they are rising, fear haunted faces, gaunt and grey

Ghosts are gathering, the Danse Macabre, the hellish fray

Heaven above, Thistle Alley below

Whistles are blowing, the maxims are waiting

To carve the flesh, shatter skulls and crush the bone

Guns stuttering relentless rake the lines

The gas that whispers in the confines of the trenches

To choke the life of those who dare to hide

Heaven above, Thistle Alley below

Motionless survivors bloody on the killing floor

Praying for the darkness to return

Praying for the darkness to return and hide the graves of the living