| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 3:09 | 
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The West's asleep. Let England shake,
weighted down with silent dead. I fear our blood won't rise again. England's dancing days are done. Another day, Bobby, for you to come home & tell me indifference won. Smile, smile Bobby, with your lovely mouth. Pack up your troubles, let's head out to the fountain of death and splash about, swim back and forth and laugh out loud, until the day is ending, and the birds are silent, and the insects are courting in the bushes, and by the shores heavy stones are falling. |
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| 2. |
| 2:21 |
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Goddamn Europeans!
Take me back to beautiful England and the grey, damp filthiness of ages, and battered books, and fog rolling down behind the mountains, on the graveyards, and dead sea-captains. Let me walk through the stinking alleys to the music of drunken beatings, past the Thames River, glistening like gold hastily sold for nothing. Let me watch night fall on the river, the moon rise up and turn to silver, the sky move, the ocean shimmer, the hedge shake, the last living rose quiver. |
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| 3. |
| 3:35 |
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How is our glorious country ploughed?
Not by iron ploughs Our lands is ploughed by tanks and feet, Feet Marching Oh, America Oh, England How is our glorious country sown? Not with wheat and corn. How is our glorious land bestowed? What is the glorious fruit of our land? Its fruit is deformed children. What is the glorious fruit of our land? Its fruit is orphaned children. |
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| 4. |
| 3:46 |
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I've seen and done things I want to forget;
I've seen soldiers fall like lumps of meat, Blown and shot out beyond belief. Arms and legs were in the trees. I've seen and done things I want to forget; coming from an unearthly place, Longing to see a woman's face, Instead of the words that gather pace, The words that maketh murder. These, these, these are the words- The words that maketh murder. These, these, these are the words- The words that maketh murder. These, these, these are the words- Murder... These, these, these are the words- The words that maketh murder. I've seen and done things I want to forget; I've seen a corporal whose nerves were shot Climbing behind the fierce, gone sun, I've seen flies swarming everyone, Soldiers fell like lumps of meat. These are the words, the words are these. death lingering, stunk, Flies swarming everyone, Over the whole summit peak, Flesh quivering in the heat. This was something else again. I fear it cannot be explained. The words that make, the words that make Murder. What if I take my problem to the United Nations? |
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| 5. |
| 5:40 | 
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| 6. |
| 4:08 |
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The scent of Thyme carried on the wind,
stings your face into remembering cruel nature has won again. On Battleship Hill's caved in trenches, a hateful feeling still lingers, even now, 80 years later. Cruel nature. Cruel, cruel nature. The land returns to how it has always been. The scent of Thyme carried on the wind. Jagged mountains, jutting out, cracked like teeth in a rotten mouth. On Battleship Hill I hear the wind, Say "Cruel nature has won again." |
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7. |
| 3:11 |
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I live and die through England
Through England It leaves a sadness Remedies never were within my reach I cannot go on as I am Withered vine reaching from the country That I love England You leave a taste A bitter one I have searched for your springs But people, they stagnate with time Like water, like air To you, England, I cling Undaunted, never failing love for you England |
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| 8. |
| 3:00 |
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We got up early,
washed our faces, walked the fields and put up crosses. Passed through the damned mountains, went hellwards, and some of us returned, and some of us did not. In the fields and in the forests, under the moon and under the sun another summer has passed before us, and not one man has, not one woman has revealed the secrets of this world. So our young men hid with guns, in the dirt and in the dark places. |
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| 9. |
| 2:30 |
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Bitter branches
spreading out. There's none more bitter than the wood. Into the wide world, it grows, twisting under soldier's feet, standing in line and the damp earth underneath. Holding up their rifles high, holding their young wives who wave goodbye. Hold up the clear glass to look and see soldiers standing and the roots twist underneath. Their young wives with white hands wave goodbye. Their arms as bitter branches spreading into the world. Wave goodbye Wave goodbye |
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| 10. |
| 2:42 |
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Walker sees the mist rise
Over no man's land He sees in front of him A smashed up waste ground There are no fields or trees No blades of grass Just unhurried ghosts are there Hanging in the wire Walker's in the wire Limbs point upwards There are no birds singing The white cliffs of Dover There are no trees to sing from Walker cannot hear the wind Far off symphony To hear the guns beginning Walker's in the mist Rising over no man's land In the battered waste ground Hear the guns firing |
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| 11. |
| 3:40 |
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People throwing dinars at the belly-dancers
In a sad circus by a trench of burning oil People throw belongings; a lifetime's earnings Amongst the scattered rubbish and suitcases on the sidewalk Date palms and orange and tangerine trees With eyes that're crying for everything (Let it burn! Let it burn, burn, burn...) (Blood, blood, blood, blood and fire) So I talked to an old man by the generator He was standing on the gravel by the fetid river He turned to me and then surveyed the scene Said, "War is here in our beloved city." (Let it burn! Let it burn, burn, burn...) (Blood, blood, blood, blood and fire) Some jumped in the river and tried to swim away Through tons of sewage; they'd written on their foreheads Date palms and orange and tangerine trees With eyes that're crying for everything (Let it burn! Let it burn, burn, burn...) (Blood, blood, blood, blood and fire) Let it burn, let it burn! Let it burn, let it burn! Let it burn, let it burn! Let it burn, let it burn! |
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| 12. |
| 2:34 |
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Louis was my dearest friend
Fighting in the ANZAC trench Louis ran forward from the line I never saw him again Later in the dark I thought I heard Louis' voice Calling for his mother, then me But I couldn't get to him He's still up on that hill 20 years on that hill Nothing more than a pile of bones But I think of him still If I was asked I'd tell The colour of the earth that day It was dull and browny red The colour of blood, I'd say |
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