(Brooker)
|
Called up to Camberley in '39
|
To play his part on the French front line
|
He was full of hope, overflowing with tears
|
He'd been on the earth barely nineteen years
|
but he was willing
|
Sailed across the Channel for to meet his foe
|
Marched from Le Havre to Forge-les-Eaux
|
There were sounds of battle that assailed his ears
|
They moved that night with the taste of fear
|
to the killing
|
Got dug down in Deauville
|
His young life on the line
|
Had time to think about her
|
His first love he'd left behind
|
The battle lost
|
at heavy cost
|
To life and limb
|
but not for him
|
He was caught
|
and marched away
|
to darker days
|
a prisoner
|
He walked to Poland
|
with thousands of others
|
Their common plight
|
would make them brothers
|
For years of cold and fear
|
and lonely tears
|
for four long years
|
The Allies came
|
to liberate
|
They found him in rags
|
In a pitiful state
|
But alive
|
Taken at the very start
|
Not freed until the last
|
Lest we forget the sacrifice
|
That young men make for what seems right
|
We lose them
|
confuse them
|
abuse them
|
Young rose waiting on the English shore
|
To hold her boy, now a man of twenty-four
|
Hard of hearing, no feeling
|
What do we know of pain and healing?
|
Hard of hearing, hard of hearing.
|
|
-----------------
|
Sympathy For The Hard Of Hearing
|
Gary Brooker |