Passchendaele

Another night in Passchendaele The colored streamers fall A young man weeps and warm mud shines As frogs and toads call A flash of light, am I crazy A flash of gray o'er the horizon A midnight crack, am I crazy Snap of a branch or scythe of the reaper Am I a sleeper Another day in Passchendaele The ceaseless mist this brow has kissed My mind rewinds the vanished words In writing which my mother wished Wistful, I peek, and eye a flare And my tired heart sinks in despair Then I laugh, for it's the sun Which shouts my timely 6th day has come And soon my frontline clash is done Forget the youth and growing old Is this fate, at last, or tales foretold By gods who predetermined But they don't trudge this bloody mud A camera's flash, am I'm crazy Bomb-thrown dust or a ticker-tape parade The battle's won, am I crazy My mother wails the answer at my fresh-dug grave At my fresh-dug grave