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Bethan Le Mas

Bethan Le Mas is a British singer-songwriter known for her captivating and soulful music. Her unique sound combines elements of folk, pop, and acoustic genres. With heartfelt lyrics and a powerful voice, Bethan has gained a loyal following and continues to captivate listeners with her emotive performances. more »

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 The easy, fast & fun way to learn how to sing: 30DaySinger.com

In the night the sky burns bright
It's always night, the clock ain't right
The cycle's out - for twenty-eight days
The sky's been dark, the air choke haze
I don't wish to die but think we might
The little birds have all took fright
For they cannot stand the sound or sight
Of us digging

If all these animals premonition
The follies of the glorious mission
Still little hope of the donkeys listening
And packing us home to mother

Sweet England! What we're fighting for 
Who waved white breasted from the shore
And sent her young sons off to war 
Is burnt away in mustard

I third a cigarette with Tom and Jacques
As we stand and peer across the land
We walked last night (Or the one before)
That is of no man but Mistress War
She clears the bed of all its spies!
Sends them twitt'ring to the skies!
And slips inside your head
With thoughts of infidelity

We spot some errant part of man
Where he should not be - a hand
Clawing for the sky from land
That once grew green but now lies damned
For we took the earth and scored it deep
Pocked with barbs, artillery
Little wonder that it weeps to see
Us digging

Haw! This barren irony
Back home she grows so verdantly
Evangeline, who thinks of me
As living, though I soon might not be

In the night the sky is burning
The clock ain't right, the world quits turning
The air is fire, the ground is mud
And shit and sick and piss and blood
The gas will come before the dawn
Blind and choke me without warning
Kill me seven years hence
If I am spared the barbed wire fence

I look to the sky and to Tom and Jacques
And those that went and ain't come back
In this unbirthing - backwards-turning
Black-earth churning hellish burning

The little birds are all long flown
Unto some untouched reach (Back home!)
Where blue and green retain their brightness
And day is day and night is night
Where my yet-unborn will skip and play
And wonder of his father's day
(Who lay perhaps mud drowned at Ypres
While his mother rocked his newborn sleep)
"Did you make these little games?"
These games, I can't recall their names
Only played the game of war
That he should not - this I fight for
And though I might not, I hope to live
And see once more the English cliffs
That Evangeline need not scar her skin
With digging

 The easy, fast & fun way to learn how to sing: 30DaySinger.com