LAMBS, BY BEN SABLEROLLE

I’ve been walking through the night, down the corduroy road, Through these foreign fields, far from the fields of home It’s October and it’s raining, the land a porridge of mud, We’ll dig a hole in which to rest, we’ll hope for the best At home the lambs are being born, it takes me back, to all that I long for The brass have sent down the orders, we’ll hop the bags in the dawn The boys’ll do what must be done We got Fritz on the run, so little time to prepare Still every man must do his share We’ve had a tot to keep us warm, cleaned my gun, all is calm At home the lambs are being born, it takes me back, to all that I long for At 6am the boys went over, there never was a stunt like this before Fritz rained us with shells, machine gun fire from hell, Boys hung up in the wire, lives lost and nothing gained Bodies, men, horses, buried in the bog At home the lambs are being born, here we are, lambs to the slaughter I’m going back down the line, down the corduroy road, I can’t feel anything, don’t know if I have any mates left now A bad business, someone blundered, our boys have paid the price This battle name one to shudder at, the name Passchendaele At home the lambs are being born, there we were, lambs to the slaughter Old man when I look in your eyes I see no fear, I know you been a long time getting here, Seen your buddies die in the trenches And the blood stained and drenched the earth, wondered what it is worth Said it was the love of a woman the sweetest wife a man ever had, took you by the hand In October the first child came and lit the will to live again Over time the feelings came, you fed your family off the fat of the land, when the sun went down in the fields you’d stand, looking out for the lambs Old soldier Old Hero I give you thanks, for what you gave is what we have. Lest we forget.