The sliding mud and smell of death, the constant noise of fire, A - TopicsExpress



          

The sliding mud and smell of death, the constant noise of fire, A foot gained here an inch there as trenches are built higher, They didnt want to die that way, just full of national pride, Thats why the boys turned into men, before our very eyes. A vast amount of courage, thats never been improved, The love for our freedom that could never be removed. The cannon fodder that forgot fear, to keep our isle our own, Would not yield to being oppressed, they stood firm and bold. Never let their memories fade, or slowly slip away, For England our England is what remains of those days. R.I.P
Posted on: Sun, 03 Aug 2014 19:34:13 +0000

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