Letras:
Harvey Pj Let England Shake

to beautiful England & the grey, damp filthiness of ages, fog rolling down behind the mountains, & on the graveyards, and dead sea-captains. Let me walk

: Death was everywhere, in the air and in the sounds coming off the mounds of Bolton's Ridge. Death's anchorage. When you rolled a smoke or told a joke

: We got up early, washed our faces, walked the fields and put up crosses. Passed through the damned mountains, went hellwards, and some of us returned

: How is our glorious country ploughed? Not by iron ploughs Our lands is ploughed by tanks and feet, Feet Marching Oh, America Oh, England How is our

: (feat. Mick Harvey) Louis was my dearest friend Fighting in the ANZAC trench Louis ran forward from the line I never saw him again Later in the dark

: The scent of Thyme carried on the wind, stings your face into remembering cruel nature has won again. On Battleship Hill's caved in trenches, a hateful

Louis was my dearest friend Fighting in the ANZAC trench Louis ran forth from the line I never saw him again Later in the dark I thought I heard Louis

I live and die through England Through England It leaves a sadness Remedies never were within my reach I cannot go on as I am Withered vine reaching

We got up early, washed our faces Walked the fields and put up crosses Passed through the damned mountains Went hellwards and some of us returned And