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Hanging in the Wire

Walker sees the mist rise

Over no man's land

He sees in front of him

A smashed up waste groundThere are no fields or trees

No blades of grass

Just unhurried ghosts are there

Hanging in the wireWalker's in the wire

Limbs point upwards

There are no birds singing

The white cliffs of DoverThere are no trees to sing from

Walker cannot hear the wind

Far off symphony

To hear the guns beginningWalker's in the mist

Rising over no man's land

In the battered waste ground

Hear the guns firing

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