On Battleship Hill

The scent of Thyme carried on the wind,
stings your face into remembering
cruel nature has won again.
On Battleship Hill’s caved in trenches,
a hateful feeling still lingers,
even now, 80 years later.
Cruel nature.
Cruel, cruel nature.
The land returns to how it has always been.
The scent of Thyme carried on the wind.
Jagged mountains, jutting out,
crags like teeth in a rotten mouth.
On Battleship Hill I hear the wind,
Say «Cruel nature has won again.»