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In this field of poppies where I lie
I look right up into the sky,
and call to those who`ve gone before
to lead me up to heaven`s door,

to take me by thier sainted hands
and lead me to that promised land,
where souls so pure and kind do dwell
no more for me this living hell.

Their poppy fields are not like this
where bombs and shells around me hiss,
but birdsong fills the scented air
and children play without a care.

So hear my prayer,
I am your son.
Lord open up your arms
I come.