The Ghosts Of Flanders Field

And we find ourselves in Flanders field again,
trapped by those bloody poppies, row on row.
We ask “Christ! Sweet dove, do not leave.
For it is with you, we long to go”.

But the dove cries, “You cannot come.
for I am flying off to Heaven’s peace
and there is no place for ghosts of war
and will not be till all wars cease”.

So, we find ourselves in Flanders field again;
trapped by those bloody poppies, row on row.
Poor ghosts condemned to haunt this blasted place
who, unto heaven, may not go.

Not till the killing and destruction cease.
But do the living hear our cries of woe?
Do they march behind the dove of peace?
No. Off to more bloody wars they go.

So we find ourselves in Flanders field again.
Though we try to leave, we cannot go.
Not till war ends. Our souls condemned till then,
trapped by those bloody poppies, row on row