In Flanders Field / In English Towns

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

In English towns parade the Dead
- Untold men in wars gainsaid,
For Glory, oil or regime change
We bomb and fight, torture and maim
Scarce caring we have been mislead.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

We are the Dead. Again we die
We lived, were conned, accepted lies,
Killed and were killed in The Great Game
In English Towns.

Take up the quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders field.

Take up the quarrel in your head:
Why have you not yet learned to dread
All war? Utter waste, abject shame,
It must not happen in your name!
"Never again" so often said
In English Towns.