HOME | DD

Description
That perpetual 'rat-at-at-at' of a machine gun.
The familiar groan of a poor, wounded soldier.
The pounding hooves of a rider less horse.
A dreadful fate lingers in stagnant air.
I awaken to the strange relief of another nightmare.

Every night is the same, it's a dreadful dream.
Decorated with the fear of loneliness.
It still haunts me, disturbs me and tortures me.
Maybe it haunts you too, maybe you think of our home.
Here the city sleeps in fear and we all seem alone.

Home. London. Hardly recognisable.
A city painted with destruction and desolation.
War has taken our country, fed it to the dogs.
Hardly worth the pride we share anymore.
Remember the beauty and the grace, from before?

I read each letter, slowly and carefully.
Between the lines lies false optimism.
They all read the same, a varied tale.
You say 'The food's ok, and we're having a ball!'
But I can tell you just don't want me to worry at all.

They said you'd be home by winter, they said you all would.
But there's no doubt in my mind now the cold's been and gone.
I'm expecting the news, anticipating its arrival.
For a telegram, a letter, some form of evidence.
I just want to know, if you were caught in that incidence.

They didn't lie when they said the war took everything.
I know that, now the doorbell starts to ring.

Description
That perpetual 'rat-at-at-at' of a machine gun.
The familiar groan of a poor, wounded soldier.
The pounding hooves of a rider less horse.
A dreadful fate lingers in stagnant air.
I awaken to the strange relief of another nightmare.

Every night is the same, it's a dreadful dream.
Decorated with the fear of loneliness.
It still haunts me, disturbs me and tortures me.
Maybe it haunts you too, maybe you think of our home.
Here the city sleeps in fear and we all seem alone.

Home. London. Hardly recognisable.
A city painted with destruction and desolation.
War has taken our country, fed it to the dogs.
Hardly worth the pride we share anymore.
Remember the beauty and the grace, from before?

I read each letter, slowly and carefully.
Between the lines lies false optimism.
They all read the same, a varied tale.
You say 'The food's ok, and we're having a ball!'
But I can tell you just don't want me to worry at all.

They said you'd be home by winter, they said you all would.
But there's no doubt in my mind now the cold's been and gone.
I'm expecting the news, anticipating its arrival.
For a telegram, a letter, some form of evidence.
I just want to know, if you were caught in that incidence.

They didn't lie when they said the war took everything.
I know that, now the doorbell starts to ring.