That's not the mornings mist you see, that lays across the land
lt hovers over sacred ground, where young men made a stand,
The guns have all fell silent now, the bugles call is still
And evermore, their ghosts will roam, across that windswept hill.
As cocks crow greets the suns first rays, Li Chan must start his day
His little sisters slumber on, he humbly kneels to pray,
For now he's just turned seventeen, his fathers pride and joy
He toils all day to feed his kin, though yet, he's still a boy.
The 'Peoples' commissars have come, to issue their demand
For 'foreign devils' come again, to rape, and steal your land,
Four men from each commune must come, to build up China's
might
To march across the Yalu, and to put the dogs to flight.
ln another village, far away, where a mother hides her fears
She holds her son for this last time, and tries to stem the tears,
She hugs him tight, the final kiss, and then he boards the train
And she waves goodbye to the dearest love, she will never see
again.
Can you hear the bugles sounding out, can you hear your country's
call
The battle grows yet stronger now, your friends begin to fall,
Ten thousand Chinese troops have marched, to test our will to
fight
And many mothers tears will flow, for those that die tonight.
The ravenous machine guns search, and cut down fine young
men
Their last thought be on loved ones, they will never see again,
We've now lost many of our own, yet still the bugle shrills
Six thousand miles young men have sailed, to die on foreign
hills.
The barrels of machine guns hot, and the belts begin to jam
lt's time to reach for your rifles now, and fight to your last man,
The first lines of advancing troops, now sprawled across the wire
Now forms a bridge for still yet more, the order comes 'retire'.
We fall back to the valleys mouth, yet still their armies come
Our last stand shall be on this hill, and even cooks bear guns,
The cursing of the dying, and the Chinese screams 'Towshon'
Our ranks are thinning faster now, the battle rages on.
And still the mad refrain rings out, the bugles still are crying
While to it's tune, and all too soon, the flowers in spring are
dying,
The flag still waves defiance, and the bayonets glisten still
There's Chinese troops among us now, upon that tortured
hill.
Then later in the morning, when they'd counted up the cost
The colonels message to his men, 'Pull back, the battles lost',
Six hundred and fifty proud young men, who first began the
fight
There's barely fifty now survive, pull back with mornings light.
They trekked along the valley south, five miles to Sammi-Chon
And those who stronger than the rest, would help the weak along,
Yet back there where the Imjim flows, the Chinese count their
dead
Five thousand mothers wait to hear, how many tears to shed.
ln a commune south of Hunzhon, where the harvesting's begun
Two little girls must come awake, with the early mornings sun,
They wade through muddy rice fields, till their little body's tire
While their brother still, lies on a hill, among the twisted wire.
© Sammichon, 9 months ago