War

Poppies are red.
Lots of people are dead.
In wars people die.
In wars people cry.
In Flanders fields.

When the darkness falls.
You can hear them call.
In fields poppies grow.
They also glow.
In Flanders fields.

Our blood is red.
We also cry in bed.
Our sprit is high.
We never lie.
In Flanders fields

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