Cold wind blows through the gray valley floor
No one remembers the reason for war
Iron rain falls on a broken red line
Wait for a signal or some kind of sign
One lonely helmet rests deep in the clay
While the big cannons blow the daylight away
Low rolling thunder that shakes every bone
Left in the puddle and sleeping alone
Old boots are sinking in thick heavy oil
Blood turns to rust in the blackened black soil
Wire is twisted like a knot in a rope
Far from the city and far from any hope
One lonely helmet rests deep in the clay
While the big cannons blow the daylight away
Low rolling thunder that shakes every bone
Left in the puddle and sleeping alone
Far off the flashes are painting the sky
Heavy shells scream as the metal birds fly
Mud is a blanket that covers the face
Hiding the truth of this desolate place
One lonely helmet rests deep in the clay
While the big cannons blow the daylight away
Low rolling thunder that shakes every bone
Left in the puddle and sleeping alone
Hollow brass casings are strewn on the grass
Counting the minutes as the long hours pass
Water is rising to swallow the chrome
No one is coming to carry it home
Low tide of winter and high tide of fear
The sound of the distance is all that we hear
A slow steady beat like a drum in the chest
Giving the weary a permanent rest
Silver frost settles on the rim of the pot
Everything precious is suddenly forgot
Clouds are as heavy as a wet wool coat
Sinking the spirit like a leak in a boat
One lonely helmet rests deep in the clay
While the big cannons blow the daylight away
Low rolling thunder that shakes every bone
Left in the puddle and sleeping alone
Just steel in the mud.
Sinking slow in the mud.
Sleeping alone.
