Текст песни: Two Men In A Field, November 1917 + перевод

I felt something foreign

Dart under my skin

I fell 20 yards from

The spot where we’d dug in

And I tried not to think

«How will I make it back?»

And I won the war

Between the wind and my final match

Well, I didn’t want to

Finish off the body on my right

I felt no fear smoking

There in his wounded sights

We’re happy just to kill ourselves slowly

He looked at where my

Cigarette had been lit

Pulled one from his pack

And placed it between his lips

And he muttered something

In an alien tongue

Struck his index finger

Twice gently with his thumb

And with no matches or anything

That could provide a light

I leaned my face in, shielded the wind,

Lit his smoke with mine

We are not soldiers, traitors, or enemies

We are two men in a field, November 1917

Mud in our boots, smoke in our lungs

To our cigarettes we clung

Happy just to kill ourselves slowly

And our peace was won without our guns

Smiled at each other in spite of the blood

Smoking famously in a field, November 1917

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