| 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.» |
