Willst shadows flicker on the water receeding on the ebb.
A watchful eye guards carefully the tired men in bed.
Their bed is just a sand dune, their ceiling just the sky,
Tomorrow will decide who will live or die.
Walcheren Isla has cost enough, a bitter bloody fight,
A little bit of flooded land the enemy held tight.
The little ships were the first to suffer,
And men met men in combat, and forced a human buffer.
And as the rising moon showes scare formed in the sky,
A pall of smoke is rising just across the bay.
And we will leave this broken place……. only a battered shell,
To live forever in our mind as just a living hell.