On Battleship Hill

The scent of thyme carried on the wind,
Stings my face into remembering
Cruel nature has won again.
Cruel nature has won again.
On Battleship Hill's caved in trenches,
A hateful feeling still lingers,
Even now, eighty years later.
Cruel nature.
Cruel, cruel nature.
The land returns to how it has always been.
Thyme carried on the wind.
Jagged mountains, jutting out,
Cracked like teeth in a rotten mouth.
On Battleship Hill I hear the wind,
Say "Cruel nature has won again."
Cruel nature has won again.
Cruel nature has won again.
Cruel nature has won again.