In Foreign Fields
An adaptation of 'In Flanders Fields' by John MacRae

In foreign fields, the poppies fly
Between the crosses under the sky
That mark the place where we lie
Where still singing larks fly by
Rarely heard above the guns which die

We are the Dead; from long ago
We used to live, our eyes would glow
Requited love and love will show
In foreign fields

Continue our quarrels with the foe
We give to you our arms of woe
The torch, hold high and this will show
The faith in us, we who go
We never rest, though poppies grow
In foreign fields