"What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? - Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle Can patter out their hasty orisons. No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, - The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires." (Wilfred Owen, 1918) Now the day has run When the cover comes But any fool can see Ahead Silence is my friend But it has to end Any fool can see Ahead It's the longest night It's the longest night Cold winds may blow On the longest night So we write our letters To those far away Any fool can see Ahead The distant sound of thunder A choir of wailing shells Any fool can see Ahead It's the longest night It's the longest night Cold winds may blow On the longest night I don't want to fight I don't know who's right Cold winds they blow On this longest night It's the longest night It's the longest night Cold winds may blow On this longest night