Lonely Widow's Beds

Ten thousand men were crouching
On the crest of Gafton Hill
Each one with a sharpened sword to bear
All of them a single will
Twas early March and early morn
You see their nervous breath
Before the dark of this English day
Five thousand would meet their death


Ten thousand men would run the vale,
To fight brothers eye to eye,
Cannon ball, arrow and bow,
Death’s stench would reach the sky.
The sky and sun don’t care about,
Your rank, or pause at your name
Their silent witness tells no tales,
Of soldier’s deeds or fame.


You can hear the ghosts of horses,
You and smell the ghosts of men,
If you squint your eyes a bit,
You can see the wars again
The ringing of steel on steel,
The pounding of the hooves
Shaking of mount and moor and hand
I could feel it where I stood.


It takes blood and bone,
Skin and pain to build a single man
It takes blood and blade,
Hell and hate, to kill him where he stands
You swing the sword, sever air,
You can fill the stream with red
But you can never replace the souls,
Or fill lonely widow’s beds.