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!