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Sacriphyx - The Western Front cover art
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The Western Front

(2013)
TypeStudio Full-length
GenresDeath Metal, Thrash Metal, Black Metal
LabelsNuclear War Now! Productions
Album rating :  -
Votes :  0
Lyrics > S > Sacriphyx Lyrics (8) >

The Western Front Lyrics

(8)
Submitted by level Rousseau
1. The Western Front (3:27)
instrumental
2. Buried Behind the Lines (3:58)
Draped over the trench, a bloated and sickening corpse
Staring down from above with its leering vacant eyes
Its mouth slightly ajar, perhaps in a mocking smirk
Its skin seems alive with a hundred flies

For a while the war is forgotten
As I ponder this ghastly sight
Am I accustomed to this horror?
Should it still cause me to fright?

His uniform is German, my rifle sights have spotted many
Not for want has my bolt hit home, my trigger squeezed asunder
They are no personal enemy of mine, the German Private soldier
I've shared a beer with one back home in simpler times Down Under

So i feel I must write to the parents of this Soldier
Give him a proper funeral, for his honour as well as mine
Tell them I knew him not but felt sad for this grinning corpse
And mark a map where he was buried within the Australian lines
3. Fatal Fromelles (6:04)
Not often will you hear the tale of damned Fromelles
A battle tried forgotten where great sorrow dwells
The worst twenty four hours in our history of Australia
An unnecessary battle and a complete bloody failure

Orchestrated by a British Corp. Commander
This bloke is the subject of cruel yet just slander
For he had learnt nothing from his past planned disasters
So Australians fell thick and fast on dead foreign pastures

A feint to draw the Germans away from the Somme
Started with a seven hour barrage of bombs
But the Germans from their high ground could see
That a feint was all it was going to be

It was the first major battle by Australians in France
Welcome to the Western Front, they stood not a chance
Cut down by a weapon underrated at Haig
In shell holes and graves countless Australians were laid
4. Without a Trace (6:03)
My surroundings are bleak
Stretcher bearers do I seek
A wasteland of churned earth
Bearing pain for all I'm worth

For hours under French sun
I've lain wounded from Hun gun
In a damn shallow shell hole
From which to rid is my goal

No more water at my hip
A dead foes water do I sip
A healable wound but in this sun
Is worse than injury by gun

Of a sudden movement I see
Believing I shall soon be free
But coming closer now to see
They are Germans numbering three

They are kind, they dress my wound
Tell me Australians are coming soon
Fill my bottle, shade my face
Then they leave without a trace
5. The Crawling Horror (4:36)
These beasts of steel seemed injured
With their squealing unwholesome sounds
Its awkward movements seems so painful
Mastery over no-mans land though found

Its visibility was useless
Their hides surprisingly weak
Its bulk screamed Industrial age
Forever crawling, This iron cage

Lurching, crawling, terrifying
Overheating, understeering, stalling
Cursing, sobbing, heartbreaking
Thrown into battle untried

Hoping to over run, cause mass panic and outflank
But hopeless was the maiden outing of the Mark I Tank
6. Damn Passchendaele Ridge (2:31)
An endless bog
A sea of mud
A foul smelling mire
Of blood and guts

A wasteland of soggy brown
No other colour to be found
In this both men and mule drown
Was this really once a town?

The shells keep on coming
Is this place not miserable enough?
Can't keep dry, can't keep safe
Oh boy are we doing it tough

And the rain keeps on falling
And the War will not stop
We are told to fix bayonets
Over sandbags we must hop

But our artillery is useless
Not enough guns made it to the front
So in the bog we get torn to pieces
Because our heavy artillery had sunk

Damn this war
Damn the weather
Damn the generals to the rear
Damn the bullets
Damn the shrapnel
Damn this Passchendaele Ridge
7. Food for the Front (5:46)
From the field kitchen he did troop
With two canisters filled with soup

His feet felt old and his aching limbs felt numb
He had promised his mates with soup he'd come
So alone he continued through trenches and raped earth
Concentrating on not spilling soup for all he was worth

But the way it was long and the burden was great
Stray bombs landed near, was he now tempting fate
Reasonably quiet on the front but he knew snipers well
Though the land seemed dead still they would dwell

Before the war he was a wanderer, a swagman if you will
Humping his drum through valleys, plains and over hill
His Billy on his swag had now popped into his head
For similar was the containers that now weighed him down like lead

A stray shell landed near and his mind returned to the job
He quickened his awkward walk as his heart began to throb
When a shell landed nearer and a container was rent asunder
He stared in disbelief then his cursed raped the air like thunder

He sat the last one down and took a little rest
The freight it had knocked the wind from his chest
He rubbed his eyes and it seemed rather strange to him
That his usually faultless vision was now going dim

He was now confused at where he was, why was he sitting down?
Why was he dressed in khaki, what's this red fluid on the ground?
He had not felt the shrapnel that had torn a hole in his side
In the mud of a ruined trench he closed his eyes and died
8. Wells of Beersheba (5:12)
Harry Chauvel was running out of time, he needed Beersheba now
Infantry would take too long so the question now was how
A charge he though, yes that would do, they would not expect that
His mind was set so he called forward his men for a little chat

In sight of the Turks, they lined up in three rows
Hoping this untried tactic would deliver the fatal blow
They were eager for the fight and eager for the charge
The dust stirred up by the horses left most blokes parched

Then the talk suddenly stopped and the dust began to settle
Formation of troops now complete, the sound of feet on stirrup metal
The Light Horse men looked at each other and glanced across the plain
A look of steely determination as the stroked their horse's manes

Under thigh they could feel the tension of their horses
That the beasts needed water their masters felt remorse
Well they stroked their horses heads and whispered in their ears
That the wells of Beersheba were tantalizingly near

The signal came and Brigadier Grant did lead
The Lighthorsemen towards valiant deed
The trot turned to gallop in no time at all
Gallop to charge when the shrapnel began to fall

Their rifles slung over shoulder, their bayonets came to hand
They cursed the Turkish Arabs as they sped across their land
The Turkish artillery had started and a few fine soldiers fell
But still they charged towards their goal, the famed Beersheba's Wells

The clouds of dust, distant roar and flashing bayonets in the setting sun
Dread the cause for Turks to forget to change the sights on their guns
Machine guns poured lead and rifle fire did the same
But again the guns sights was the reason for lousy aim

Of a sudden they were upon them, diving from horse to ground
Whilst other rode ahead to harass others to be found
They hacked down upon the heads of Turks with bayonet and fist
And headed back to the front trenches for others they had missed

Turks surrounded in droves whilst others fought in groups
Harshly they were dealt with by the mounted infantry troops
Within an hour the battle was won and their horses drunk their fill
For the risk involved against great odds, small was the butchers bill
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