2019.03.16.
The ravine of the lost children
Mist hovers over theThe wind blows toward
Autumn will be there soon
but war doesn't care about seasons.
Tomorrow the fight will rage on
Fire will rain from the skies
and wipe a village off the map
there on the hill.
Birds have long gone silent
in the ravine of the lost children (x2)
Snow followed rain, falling
on the burnt-out tree stumps.
For the enjoyment of strategists
that's when the war dug in.
In Vauquois, under heaps of rubble
they dig saps and tunnels.
For four years, mine warfare
will relentlessly spew death.
Birds have long gone silent
in the ravine of the lost children (x2)
Lice, vermin, filth,
stench, rats, mud,
feet rotting in your shoes,
artillery barrages drive you mad.
Fear grasps the comrades,
of a flamethrower roasting you alive,
of mustard gas, of grenades.
The trench is their mass grave.
Birds have long gone silent
in the ravine of the lost children (x2)
In the horrible racket,
during the assaults, night and day
countless men fall
and lie dying helplessly.
Terror follows mass slaughter.
The screams of the wounded, the dying,
many of which will find their graves
in a field of mud drenched in blood.
Birds have long gone silent
in the ravine of the lost children (x2)
In the craters of this field of horror,
in the gaping shell holes,
insects, trees and flowers
are blasted away together with the grunts.
This nature, these beings of flesh,
how can we recall them from oblivion?
By refusing all wars,
wars of tomorrow, wars of today.
We don't want any more of this suffering
Life ends where war begins.
Birds have long gone silent
in the ravine of the lost children (x2)