Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 184

Today is Thursday, the 4th of November 2021.


Spiders knit their webs. And they have eight legs.
And they are not insects. But some insects are called crabs.
Miscounted. Thought those crabs had eight legs, too.
It's confusing these days.

 

"Roads to Bromford"


They crossed over the border, the hour before dawn

Moving in lines through the day

Most of our planes were destroyed on the ground where they lay

Waiting for orders we held in the wood

Word from the front never came

By evening the sound of the gunfire was miles away

Ah, softly we move through the shadows, slip away through the trees

Crossing their lines in the mists in the fields on our hands and on our knees

And all that I ever

Was able to see

The fire in the air glowing red

Silhouetting the smoke on the breeze


All summer they drove us back through the Ukraine

Smolensk and Viasma soon fell

By autumn we stood with our backs to the town of Orel

Closer and closer to Bromford they come

Riding the wind like a bell

General Guderian stands at the crest of the hill

Winter brought with her the rains, oceans of mud filled the roads

Gluing the tracks of their tanks to the ground while the sky filled with snow

And all that I ever

Was able to see

The fire in the air glowing red

Silhouetting the snow on the breeze


In the footsteps of Napoleon the shadow figures stagger through the winter

Falling back before the gates of Bromford, standing in the wings like an avenger

And far away behind their lines the partisans are stirring in the forest

Coming unexpectedly upon their outposts, growing like a promise

You′ll never know, you'll never know which way to turn, which way to look you′ll never see us

As we're stealing through the blackness of the night

You'll never know, you′ll never hear us

And the evening sings in a voice of amber, the dawn is surely coming

The morning roads lead to Stalingrad, and the sky is softly humming


Two broken Tigers on fire in the night

Flicker their souls to the wind

We wait in the lines for the final approach to begin

It′s been almost four years that I've carried a gun

At home it will almost be spring

The flames of the Tigers are lighting the road to Berlin

Ah, quickly we move through the ruins that bow to the ground

The old men and children they send out to face us, they can′t slow us down

And all that I ever

Was able to see

The eyes of the city are opening

Now it's the end of the dream


I′m coming home, I'm coming home, now you can taste it in the wind, the war is over

And I listen to the clicking of the train-wheels as we roll across the border

And now they ask me of the time that I was caught behind their lines and taken prisoner

"They only held me for a day, a lucky break," I say they turn and listen closer

I′ll never know, I'll never know why I was taken from the line and all the others

To board a special train and journey deep into the heart of holy Russia

And it's cold and damp in the transit camp, and the air is still and sullen

And the pale sun of October whispers the snow will soon be coming

And I wonder when I′ll be home again and the morning answers "Never"

And the evening sighs, and the steely Russian skies go on forever

🗿🗿🗿