In Afghan Fields

In Afghan Fields where land is low
Between the mountains row on row,
They see from afar what marks our place
They find our positions, they know our faces
They put the bombs along the road until we blow
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We were your fathers or your bros,
We were your sons and your heroes
In body bags we lay below
Below the expectations of republicans
Below the bushes of the homeland
Below the quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; we held so high, oh no
We died to make war economy grow
For false reasons we sleep as though
Some day we could see the peace grow
In Afghan fields where poppies grow
For drugs dealers and war lords, so
Next election before you go
Remove Harper from the list so
Nobody else will have to go
To die near fields where poppies grow
Pierre Castonguay
(Done after in Flanders Fields)