Trenches

Yes, from the little town in Maine,
I sent you an envelope some time ago,
P. Joshua, so it should very well say.
I warn you, don't come down now.

The streets are a mess with hate,
even the best men have left today.
I solemnly fear for the town's fate,
fires a blazing strong every night.

We all thought it was so fine here,
but now power corrupted the heart.
Day and night, men shed many tears,
their minds starved from desperation.

And even sweet love left yesterday.
The pain is too much, I must go.
Peace here is gone now, she did say.
What has become of this place?

I traveled to the graves the other day,
it was such a terribly sullen thing.
So many fine men lost that last May,
running the trenches, smeared in blood.

One day this place will all be different,
the propaganda man has told me so.
We will be free, it will be such an advent,
one day we'll leave those trenches.

Harmony and love will return,
so the working men will have their food.
Not one man shall feel concern,
And we will finally live our own lives.