Sung by Lizzie Hoyt - recorded on her Home album 2005
Early in the morning, the cold snow falling down, Easter of 1917. My love climbed out from the tunnels underground and stepped to no-man’s land in between.
His last night was spent in the ground of the French land;
with thousands of men he did wait. He laid down his head upon the barrel
of his gun, a dark and cruel symbol of his fate.
Oh, my love can’t touch you now or calm the fear that’s
building deep within. Oh, the terror you must have felt, waiting below
the hill at Vimy Ridge.
An overpowering thunder from the creeping barrage left no
room for thoughts within their minds. Forty pounds loaded down, the
horror lingered on imprinted in their memories for all time.
Oh, my love can’t touch you now or calm the fear you’re
feeling deep within. Oh, the terror you must have felt, fighting on the
hill at Vimy Ridge
A hard thump on his chest stopped time in its tracks; his
lucky streak had come and now had passed. Ahead lay the fury, behind was
a different scene: a quiet kingdom of death and casualties.
He lay waiting for the stretcher bearer to come. The cold wind froze the clothes to his body. Disbelief came over him “This couldn’t really be for I am now a young man still with dreams!”
Oh, my love can’t touch you now or calm the fear you’re
feeling deep within. Oh, the terror you must have felt, dying on the
hill at Vimy Ridge.
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