In the middle of Flanders field bullets lights up the sky,

in the middle of the night like fireworks.

when the bullets got loaded and fired

it screams through the navy blue sky

and my heart pounds

through Flanders field

I can taste the gunpowder in the air

trying to escape

the rotten air around us.

A small poppy grows every time a soldier dies.

a silent sigh that means there is still some happiness left in you.

all of the fat rats are not a catch

nor are the rotten bodies laying around

no one can escape this zone.

REMEMBER!