In the Flanders fields, the poppies grow and blow in the wind. The blood of my brothers will not be vain. Come on my Conrad’s pick up that torch and March to victory. Every man, every foe. Every scar and every tear. Lord knows the cries of these brave men. We were lost and never found. These crosses mark our path, not our success. We were enemies but we became brothers. We want peace lest we forget, no man will feel cold no more. We shall not sleep we shall not rest. Thou god knows the poppies will grow in Flanders fields.
Good morning my love, good morning my babe. I love you now and i will love you forever more, you are for now my love and forever will be. You made a slip, and i'm suffering for that slip.