They seek us in this unquiet zone
|
they chase us on from hole to hole
|
They hunt us down like carrion crows
|
they search us out like frightened moles
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This surely is a dreadful war
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An awful waste of guts and gore
|
An awful waste of human life
|
This senseless, bloody, bitter strife
|
We huddled close against the ground
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scared to make the slightest sound
|
And all around the great guns boom
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The constant march of pending doom
|
|
-----------------
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The Unquiet Zone
|
| Procol Harum |
