Why is everything wrong? All is just as it was:
Same light streaming into the chapel,
Same trees, sounds of birdsong, insects that buzz,
But he has not returned from the battle.

Now I still can’t work out who was wrong, who was right
When we’d argue, contend - how he’d prattle!
But I think of him now - it just brings delight
Now that he’s not returned from the battle.

He was awkward at times, he lacked all respect,
Sometimes he’d laugh like a jackal,
Always late up at night, playing cards while I slept,
He hasn’t returned from the battle.

But that’s not what I miss - it’s not that at all:
Like playing football when no one’s to tackle,
Like all of a sudden there’s only a ball
Now that he’s not returned from the battle.

Now broken, as if from captivity, spring -
I call him, my voice all a crackle -
Could you roll me a smoke? - My empty words ring:
For he did not return from the battle.

In an upside down world that the living forsake
Our fallen now stand sentry for us.
The blue in the forest seeps out from the lake
The boundaries ever more porous

In the quiet of a foxhole, the sound of a bell
While round us the shellfire did rattle.
He gave up the ghost - where he’s gone none can tell
But I’m still here fighting his battle.