By
Bryan Sanctuary May 1971
At night I hear the whistle blow
When the land is very still.
It lingers in the silent air
And screams across the hill.
It brings a shudder to my soul
With anguish it does fill,
And I see an eternity of pain
In the seconds of its shrill.
I hear a distant barking dog,
And my blood feels very cold.
I think of marching machine-made men
Who want to grab my soul,
And take my thoughts and change them so
They punish us with control.
Then I hear the sound of house boards sigh.
And Heaven and Earth and places of evil
Gather round to join in the kill.
A sudden light, it flickers and dies
Like so many millions of men
Who were gathered for sport and cast by lot
To be taken out and shot.
So the earth runs red with blood of those
Who fell along the way,
Till the machine-made men have come to a halt
Being victors of the day.
At night I think of fearful things,
And I see my open grave
I feel the shudder of past gone men
Who have died in so many ways.
I feel the horror of passing sights
And whistles and man-mad dogs.
But its night I’ll take without any doubt
To reality that comes with day.
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