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The Finest Hour - text

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The sun stands high above the ground,
today will be the day of no return.
There is no second chance for those who made it through.
Facing the demons from across the waters that defend our native land.
There is no telling what the enemy might do.
The foes are all too many; outnumbered by the Hun.
Never was so much at stake since this battle has begun.
What will we see before us now, will Ol’ Blighty burn?
I take my wings up to the clouds and hope to return.
We stand together to heed the nation's call,
This is our finest hour, will we stand or fall?
The few owed by many like on Saint Crispin's day,
We shall not live forever, let come what may.
I write back home that all is well, but
deep inside I’m feeling not so sure.
At night my wary nightmares make me scream aloud.
As the morning breaks a chilling sweat,
I reckon it could be my very last.
Yet I hold my chin up, I fake a smile and stand up proud.
We sit around awaiting the sirens eerie scream.
Another day - another raid, so pointless it all seems.
So many that took to the sky just never did return,
With their hopes and dreams gone up in smoke
as they crash and burn.

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Through the Ages

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