Thistle Alley

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